I couldn’t help the thought. I’d only have to do something about it, and that I can’t. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. Satisfied that he had solved his difficulty, he proceeded to his room. CHAPTER XIII. Paris was full, and it was by no means a retired spot which she had found.
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