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And so the trio the last of the procession, if we except Fate went closer to the cottage whence so cheerfully gleamed the light. "Who is there? What do you want?" It was the snarling voice of Jean Forette, late chauffeur for the Carwells, challenging. "Who is it?" he cried. The three figures came on.
At one time Minnie Webb and Harry Bartlett had been very close friends engaged some rumors had it. But now they were jolly good companions, that was all. "Seen the Carwells' new machine?" asked Bartlett. "No, but I've heard about it. I presume they'll drive up in it to-day." "Does Viola run it?" "I haven't heard. It's a powerful machine, some one said-more of a racer than a touring car, Mr.
She's a maid in one of the swell families here, and she's dead gone on our friend Jean. I managed to get a talk with her, and she thinks he's going to marry her as soon as he gets another place. A better place than with the Carwells, she says he must have. This place was pretty much on the blink, she confided to me." "Or words to that effect," laughed the colonel. "Exactly.
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