‘Parbleu, but what a person you make me! One who spies. ” “It is Number 8, Cavendish Square,” she answered simply. Stanley regarded his neighbor’s clean-shaven face almost warily. She knew now that he never would. “I think,” he said, “that I would fetch any one whom he has asked to see. On the one hand, she seemed to think plainly and simply, and would talk serenely and freely about topics that most women have been trained either to avoid or conceal; and on the other she was unconscious, or else she had an air of being unconscious—that was the riddle—to all sorts of personal applications that almost any girl or woman, one might have thought, would have made.
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