Sir John's Necktie

Sir John, in a quiet dark travelling suit, was sitting in a pokey
little room writing letters. The room was worse than pokey, it was
shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs,
wholly uninspiring. Nevertheless, Sir John had the look of a man who
was enjoying himself. He seemed years younger, and the arrangement of
his tie and hair were almost rakish. He stamped his last letter as
Annabel entered.

She was dressed for the street very much as her own maid was
accustomed to dress, and there was a thick veil attached to her hat.

"John," she declared, "I must eat or die. Do get your hat, and we will
go to that corner cafe."

"Right," he answered. "I know the place you mean--very good cooking
for such an out-of-the-way show. I'll be ready in a moment."

Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his
moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass.

"I really do not believe," he announced with satisfaction, "that any
one would recognize me. What do you think, Annabel?"

"I don't think they would," she admitted. "You seem to have cultivated
quite a jaunty appearance, and you certainly look years younger. One
would think that you enjoyed crawling away out of your world into
hiding, with a very foolish wicked wife."

"Upon my word," he declared, "you are right. I really am enjoying it.
It is like a second honeymoon. If it wasn't for the fear that after
all--but we won't think of that. I don't believe any one could have
traced us here. You see, we travelled second class, and we are in the
least known quarter of Paris. To-night we leave for Marseilles. On
Thursday we embark for South America."