But I dare not accept it. “How odd that I should almost spring into your arms just on my doorstep!” she remarked gaily. Gerald tried it. Gerald smiled and excused himself with the Poussaint girl, whose mouth pinched together as she threw a dagger glance at the voluptuous Madame Valade. Hartford, Connecticut; she had registered that address; but there was something so mystifyingly Oriental about her that the address only thickened the haze behind which she moved. In the rush of commuters he did not see her boarding his train. Hilary could not have suggested such a thing. He swore when I tried to get it out with the ladle, and told me what it said. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station.
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