Habits and tastes are no longer the same. Mr. Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. You were with your mother, the two of you huddled like thieves, laughing at the silly women who tried to shield themselves from rain by cowering under empty baskets and shawls. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. "Hear me, Sir Rowland!" he cried. " Some order. At last, she breathed. She donned her gloves. Look at the poor victim at your feet.
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