"And after we've fixed this little matter," suggested Raleigh, "don't you think we might go somewhere and feed? I can get a sketchy kind of wash at the office while you're talking to the manager; and I'm beginning to notice that I didn't have my lunch to-day."
"I didn't either," said Annette, as the taxi slid to a standstill beside them. "But, oh! you don't know you don't know all you're doing for me. I'll never be able to thank you properly."
Raleigh opened the door of the cab for her. "You can try," he said.
"I'm in Paris for three days every fortnight."
The taxicabs of Paris include in their number the best and the worst in the world. This was one of the latter; a moving musical-box of grinding and creaking noises. But Annette sank back upon its worn and knobly cushions luxuriously, gazing across the sun-gilt river to the white, window-dotted cliffs of Paris with the green of trees foaming about their base.
"Oh, don't you love Paris?" she cried softly.
"I do," agreed Raleigh, warmly, watching the soft glow that had come to her face. "I can't keep away from it."
IX
THE DARKENED PATH
The captain reached a hand forth and touched the mate's arm.
"Sit down, James," he said quietly.