And there would have been none but for Helene Vauquier.
One evening, however, as Harry Wethermill walked down from the Cercle to the Villa des Fleurs, a woman's voice spoke to him from behind.
"Monsieur!" He turned and saw Mme.

Dauvray's maid.

He stopped under a street lamp, and said: "Well, what can I do for you ?" The woman hesitated.
"I hope monsieur will pardon me," she said humbly.

"I am committing a great impertinence.

But I think monsieur is not very kind to Mlle.
Celie." Wethermill stared at her.
"What on earth do you mean ?" he asked angrily.
Helene Vauquier looked him quietly in the face.
"It is plain, monsieur, that Mlle.