The Washington herald., 1915-10-11

well, it's an easy way to get
around. haven't been in Montreal
in ten years, and l wanted to see
how much it had changed"
"Mr. r. ]. Weston, I18 Belgrave
Square, S. w." read the card. So he
was from London-and his voice was
unmistakably English.
In the intervals of the megaphoning
Helen found herself talking with sur
prising ease. 1t was usually so hard
| for her to talk to strangers. They
dwelt on the parts of old London.
| He had not been back for two years,
. but he knew it as only a Londoner
! can. Helen spoke of the antique
shops, and of her disappointment tha
there were so few in Canada.
Have yeu been to the one on St.
Catherine street,"
mo, we just got in last night: but
have that address. I'm going there
this afternoon"
"Why. this is Saturday-they close
! disappointment: "This car goes right
by there on the way back Shall we
get out? It's not far from the hotel?"
Helen hcsitated. Would it be very
unconventional? She knew there
was certain freemasonry among
! travellers, and her eagerness to see
the shop before it closed surmounted
her scruplcs.
When they turned into St. Gather
inc street, he signaled to the guide
to let them off. Watson's Antique
Galleries was in the block beyond.
The windows were enticingly crowd
ed with Sheffield, china, and bric-a-
brac.
They spent another interesting half
hour exploring the shop. There were
no samplers, but Helen bought a bit
of old embroidery for only So, and
Mr.. Weston paid $IS for an ivory
snuffbox that she had admired.
She wondered, a little uncomfort-
ably, if he really wanted it. Yet there
was every indication that he could af-
ford to satisfy a chance whim.
1t was almost one when they
strolled back to the hotel. As they
went under the awninged entrance,
Helen was trying to formulate a
graceful parting speech. thanking him
for his courtesy.
lofty main altar with its golden i'm
agery, glimmering with candles.
When they came out from that
dusky, incense-scented silence, the
streets seemed glary and deafening.
Again the car labored up the
crowded thoroughfare. Helen h0
always thought of Canada as a for
eign country, but Montreal was very
like an American city. 1t had none of
the quaintness of Quebec.
The next stop was at fur store, ac-
cording to the guide "the largest in
the worldr The clerks were lined I'D
to receive them. Evidently this daily
call of the tourists was a feature OF
the store.
The place was smothered with furs.
Fur rugs hung sprawling from the
walls and carpetcd the floor Even
the chairs and benches were fur-up-
holstered, and the odor of moth balls
was insistent.
On the second floor every known
fur was displayed in sections. Here
Helen found herself with the man in
gray, talking quite naturally. As all
"If you're lunching alone-won't
you finish this very pleasant morning
by lunching with me-"
Wholly unprepared for this sug-
gestion, she flushed and hesitatcd.
While she was struggling for an ex-
cuse he was leading the way toward
the dining room. In the throes oil
uncertainty she followed him.
. "A window table. Mr.. Weston?"
the head waiter greeted him
Even after they were seated Helen
was still confused. and he tactiully
gave the order without consulting
her.
With the first course-jellied broth
she felt more at case. After all,
according to the traditions OF travel
crs, this was probably quite within
the conventions. 1t was foolish to
be overprudish.