” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. I have very few friends in Paris. She never touched the manuscript with pencil, but jotted down her notes on slips of paper and left them where he might easily find them. It had been his fevered imagination that had endued the garment with some extraordinary value. A pair of startled blue eyes looked up into his. He wore a silk hat a little tilted, and a morning coat buttoned round a tight, contained figure; and a white slip gave a finish to his costume and endorsed the quiet distinction of his tie. Even that he sleeps, I must give to him my thanks, for he has been excessively brave for me.
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