"Where IS the d---d thing?" their companion asked, looking helplessly about him.

"On the boulevard, at the very first of those kiosks you come to. That old woman has it--the one who speaks English--she always has it. Do go and get it--DO!" And Delia pushed him, looked for his hat for him.

"I knew he wanted to print something and I can't say I didn't!" Francie said. "I thought he'd crack up my portrait and that Mr. Waterlow would like that, and Gaston and every one. And he talked to me about the paper--he's always doing that and always was--and I didn't see the harm.

But even just knowing him--they think that's vile."

"Well, I should hope we can know whom we like!"--and Delia bounced fairly round as from the force of her high spirit.

Mr. Dosson had put on his hat--he was going out for the paper. "Why he kept us alive last year," he uttered in tribute.

"Well, he seems to have killed us now," Delia cried.

"Well, don't give up an old friend," her father urged with his hand on the door. "And don't back down on anything you've done."

"Lord, what a fuss about an old newspaper!" Delia went on in her exasperation. "It must be about two weeks old anyway. Didn't they ever see a society-paper before?"

"They can't have seen much," said Mr. Dosson. He paused still with his hand on the door. "Don't you worry--Gaston will make it all right."

"Gaston?--it will kill Gaston!"

"Is that what they say?" Delia demanded.

"Gaston will never look at me again."

"Well then he'll have to look at ME," said Mr. Dosson.

"Do you mean that he'll give you up--he'll be so CRAWLING?" Delia went on.

"They say he's just the one who'll feel it most. But I'm the one who does that," said Francie with a strange smile.

"They're stuffing you with lies--because THEY don't like it. He'll be tender and true," Delia glared.

"When THEY hate me?--Never!" And Francie shook her head slowly, still with her smile of softness. "That's what he cared for most--to make them like me."

"And isn't he a gentleman, I should like to know?" asked Delia.

"Yes, and that's why I won't marry him--if I've injured him."

"Shucks! he has seen the papers over there. You wait till he comes," Mr.

Dosson enjoined, pa.s.sing out of the room.

The girls remained there together and after a moment Delia resumed.

"Well, he has got to fix it--that's one thing I can tell you."

"Who has got to fix it?"

"Why that villainous man. He has got to publish another piece saying it's all false or all a mistake."

"Yes, you'd better make him," said Francie with a weak laugh. "You'd better go after him--down to Nice."

"You don't mean to say he's gone down to Nice?"

"Didn't he say he was going there as soon as he came back from London--going right through without stopping?"

"I don't know but he did," said Delia. Then she added: "The mean coward!"

"Why do you say that? He can't hide at Nice--they can find him there."

"Are they going after him?"

"They want to shoot him--to stab him, I don't know what--those men."

"Well, I wish they would," said Delia.

"They'd better shoot me. I shall defend him. I shall protect him,"

Francie went on.

"How can you protect him? You shall never speak to him again!" her sister engaged.

Francie had a pause. "I can protect him without speaking to him. I can tell the simple truth--that he didn't print a word but what I told him."

"I'd like to see him not!" Delia fairly hooted. "When did he grow so particular? He fixed it up," she said with a.s.surance. "They always do in the papers--they'd be ashamed if they didn't. Well now he has got to bring out a piece praising them up--praising them to the skies: that's what he has got to do!" she wound up with decision.

"Praising them up? They'll hate that worse," Francie returned musingly.

Delia stared. "What on earth then do they want?"

Francie had sunk to the sofa; her eyes were fixed on the carpet. She gave no reply to this question but presently said: "We had better go to-morrow, the first hour that's possible."

"Go where? Do you mean to Nice?"

"I don't care where. Anywhere to get away."

"Before Gaston comes--without seeing him?"

"I don't want to see him. When they were all ranting and raving at me just now I wished he was there--I told them so. But now I don't feel like that--I can never see him again."

"I don't suppose YOU'RE crazy, are you?" Delia returned.

"I can't tell him it wasn't me--I can't, I can't!" her companion went on.

Delia planted herself in front of her. "Francie Dosson, if you're going to tell him you've done anything wrong you might as well stop before you begin. Didn't you hear how poppa put it?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Francie said listlessly.

"'Don't give up an old friend--there's nothing on earth so mean.' Now isn't Gaston Probert an old friend?"

"It will be very simple--he'll give me up."