“It’s like Troy!” said a voice of rapture. . ’ ‘But I have told you not,’ she protested. I trust that she will not misunderstand me. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. " He had now gained the high road. She had a few acquaintances, English gentlemen, but she lived with her sister—was a lady. The lights of the Champs Elysées and the Place de la Concorde, suggestive, brilliant, seductive, shone like an army of fireflies against the deep cool background of the night. She wished her father and aunt would not enjoy their dinner with such quiet determination.
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