Richard helped his wife into her place, wrapped her up and took the steering wheel.
"Hyeres to-night and Marseilles to-morrow," he announced, "Biarritz on Saturday.

We shall stay there for a week, and then--'Wake up, America!'" The cars glided off.

Hunterleys and his wife stood on the steps, waving their hands.
"Something about those children," Hunterleys declared, as they vanished, "makes me feel absurdly young.

Let's go shopping, Violet.

I want to buy you some flowers and chocolates." She smiled happily as she took his arm for a moment.
"And then ?" "What would you like to do afterwards ?" he asked.
"I think," she replied, leaning towards him, "that I should like to go to that nice Englishman who lets villas, and find one right at the edge of the sea, quite hidden, and lock the gates, and give no one our address, and have you forget for just one month that there was any work to do in the world, or any one else in it except me." "Just to make up," he laughed softly.
"Women are like that, you know," she murmured.
"The man's office is this way," Hunterleys said, turning off the main street.
THE END * * * * * E.Phillips Oppenheim's Novels We do not stop to inquire into the measure of his art any more than we inquire into that of Alexander Dumas.