"To-night," she nodded. "To Etois?" "Perhaps. Perhaps to India. Perhaps to Japan." It was the indefiniteness that Monte did not relish. Even as she spoke, it was as if she began to disappear; and for a second he felt again the full weight of his thirty-two years. He was perfectly certain that the moment she went he was going to feel alone--more alone than he had ever felt in his life. It was in the nature of a hunch. Within twenty-four hours he would be wandering over Paris as he had wandered yesterday. That would not do at all. Of course, he could pack up and go on to England, but at the moment he felt that it would be even worse there, where all the world spoke English. "Suppose I order young Hamilton to leave Paris?" he asked. "But what right have you to order him to leave Paris?" "Well, I can tell him he is annoying you and that I won't stand for it," he declared. For a second her eyes grew mellow; for a second a more natural red flushed her cheeks. "If you were only my big brother, now," she breathed. Monte saw the point. His own cheeks turned a red to match hers. "You mean he'll ask--what business you are of mine?" "Yes." And Monte would have no answer. He realized that. As a friend he had, of course, certain rights; but they were distinctly limited. It was, for instance, no business of his whether she went to Etois or Japan or India. By no stretch of the imagination could he make it his business--though it affected his whole schedule, though it affected her whole life. As a friend he would be justified, perhaps, in throwing young Hamilton out of the door if he happened to be around when the man was actually annoying her; but there was no way in which he could guard her against such annoyances in the future. He had no authority that extended beyond the moment; nor was it possible for Marjory herself to give him that authority. Young Hamilton, if he chose, could harry her around the world, and it would be none of Monte's business. There was something wrong with a situation of that sort. If he had