She did not conceal her desire to see the inside of it, but I felt that I could not, even to satisfy her charming curiosity, expose the interior of Rosa’s jewel-case in a railway carriage, and so I edged away from the topic with as much adroitness as I was capable of.

The pretty girl pouted, and asked me for the Globe, behind which she buried herself. She kept murmuring aloud extracts from the Globe’s realistic description of the weather, and then she jumped up.

“I’m not going.”

“Not going?”

“No. The weather’s too awful. These newspaper accounts frighten me.”

“But the Casino de Paris?”