"There is no place fit for a young girl to stay in," Farnsworth ventured. "She can have no comfort or—"
"Take her along, sir; any place is good enough for her so long as she behaves like a—"
"Very well," Farnsworth bluntly interrupted, thus saving Alice the stroke of a vile comparison. "Come with me, please, Miss Roussillon."
He pulled her toward the door, then dropped the arm he had grasped and murmured an apology.
She followed him out, holding her head high. No one looking on would have suspected that a sinking sensation in her heart made it difficult for her to walk, or that her eyes, shining like stars, were so inwardly clouded with distress that she saw her way but dimly.
It was a relief to Hamilton when Helm a few minutes later entered the room with something breezy to say.
"What's up now, if I may ask?" the jolly American demanded. "What's this I hear about trouble with the French women? Have they begun a revolution?"
"That elephant, Gaspard Roussillon, came back into town last night," said Hamilton sulkily.
"Well, he went out again, didn't he?"
"Yes, but—"