father, and the other men went into roars of laughter.

“Tell me again,” said the father. “Your name — ?”

“Paula.”

“Paula? Oh — well, it’s a rum sort of name, eh? His name — ” he nodded at his son.

“Maurice — I know.” She pronounced it sweetly, then laughed into the father’s eyes. Maurice blushed to the roots of his hair.

They questioned her concerning her history, and made out that she came from Hanover, that her father was a shop-keeper, and that she had run away from home because she did not like her father. She had gone to Paris.

“Oh,” said the father, now dubious.