a barrel. Then she would wake up to find her mackintosh was leaking in a new place, and she was only half drowned, after all.
Now, to some, Love comes slowly, like a coat of tan growing ever deeper. But to others it strikes as suddenly as lightning, permeating one’s whole being like a sneeze. To Angie love came not only quickly but always; and, if denied expression it soon developed into convulsions which often proved fatal.
The third time she saw The Face, Angie plunged through the plate glass window with a nice scream and threw herself into his arms. But, alas, he had already disappeared!
This depressed her; she felt like a chocolate éclair that has fallen into an ash barrel—that is, almost as bad—as bad as a vanilla éclair, at any rate. She would be revenged; she would find that Face and face it. Then she would woo him like a siren, only not quite so loud, and when at last he was acclimated to her vampire love she would sit on him hard. Perhaps, indeed, she might begin by sitting on him—it would depend upon what else he had on his lap. Any-
