"To which one, mademoiselle?" he inquired politely. "The Gare de l'Est, the Gare du Nord, the Gare St. Lazare, the—"
She had not thought that there might be more than one, but one would take her away equally as well as another—it made no difference. Only he would think it very strange that she did not know which one she wanted.
"The Gare St. Lazare, if you please, monsieur," she ventured quickly—and thanked him when he had told her, and went out on the street again.
— IX —
MYRNA'S STRATEGY
"Two months—three months in America! And to be married there!" ejaculated Henry Bliss, as he stared at his daughter in utter bewilderment.
Myrna, from the depths of her father's favourite lounging chair, which she had appropriated on entering the library after dinner that evening, nodded her head in a quite matter-of-fact way.
"Isn't this rather—rather sudden?" inquired Henry Bliss, mustering a facetious irony to his rescue.
"Oh, no!" said Myrna demurely. "I decided upon it almost a week ago."