’ Joan sniffed. The open windows were above them now and, unless the intruder were to lean out, they could not possibly be seen. It was a different world. Splendidly. "Come here," said the petticoated tyrant. Yet before she turned once more to resume her flight she schooled herself with an effort to look where it had happened. A dozen words, and he saw Enschede as clearly as though he stood hard by in the flesh. " "I'm sorry. ” “It is ironic that you say that, John, for it is I who am afraid of you. Wood, at the top of her voice. CHAPTER XXIII.
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