How like her mother he was!
Without a word, she picked up her bag and went out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I
A sedan drove up to M. St. Hilaire's house in the Quartier Leopold. The young lady who got out was met at the door by a girl of fourteen who enfolded her in affectionate embraces.
"Oh, what a slow poke!" cried the girl reproachfully. "You were gone for ever and ever, Jeanette!"
"Two hours and ten minutes, Henrietta," said Janet looking at her wrist watch, "is pretty short measure for eternity. I'm glad you're not my butcher or baker."
Henriette grimaced. They went upstairs together, the girl's arm tightly clasping her companion's waist.
Henriette St. Hilaire was a lovely girl, lithe and slender. Her fair hair was bobbed and her eyes were the soft blue eyes of the North.
She complained again of the dull time she had had.