He carried a cane and a silk hat with a mourning-band in one gray-gloved hand; his frock-coat and trousers were admirable; his handsome face, his black mustache, his prominent brow conveyed an eager solicitude. “Heavens!” she exclaimed. “I will come—with pleasure,” she said, “if you will promise to treat me as a new acquaintance—not to refer to—Paris—at all. They should never come into contact with politics or economics—or any of those things. The audience was made up of parents, teachers, and a few other curious folks from town, all sitting hushed in anticipatory silence as the school orchestra assembled onstage. I thought that Hill was dead, but I was frightened, and I wanted to get away from Paris.
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