“I am in dire disgrace,” he said. “I was left with your ferocious baby, Molly, and to quiet him, I gave him a string of beads that you had left on the table.”

“My precious Indian wooden beads!”

“Yes⁠—I believe so. Anyway, the paint came off, and when Jane returned, David looked as though he had some horrible disease. She was most annoyed about it.” He sat down in Molly’s lately vacated chair, and carefully wiped a daub of green from his forefinger.

Molly laughed.

“Poor Jane! She will have such a task to clean him. But you’ve arrived most opportunely. We were talking of you.”

O’Hara groaned inwardly, and tried to frown her down.

“You were? I am flattered! May I ask what you were saying?”

“Why, that we do not want you to go back to France.”