We were only—les autres. “And what is it all about, Veronica?” he asked, with a deliberate note of irony, looking at her a little quizzically over his glasses. And yet the moment I am safely out of the way you are content to dress yourself in my rags, to go and get yourself popular and admired and successful, all on my reputation. But, since I've seen the friend and companion of my childhood, Thames Darrell, I've no heart for it. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. I'll talk to her in the morning, but she won't understand what I'm driving at. He often wanted only to drive with her in the car, both of them staring at the scenery in silence for hours. "Yes, now," rejoined the infuriated dame; "perhaps, I may never have another opportunity. Perhaps it had been pick-pocketed or jostled from her dress in a hunt.
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