old town next morning. It did not come, however. The two ladies went forth with Jimmy, and as I saw them go I could but acknowledge my rival to be a personable fellow. Sherlock Holmes and Little Lord Fauntleroy were both personable fellows in their way, and it is useless to deny Jimmy's possession of the picked attributes of each.
For some reason the word seems to have gone forth that we are to hurry on to Cannes. In the circumstances I am inclined to change my mind, and instead of wishing my dear mother to have departed before our arrival, I'm not sure it wouldn't be wiser to hope that she'll still be there. Miss Randolph "hasn't decided what she'll do after reaching the Riviera." I can't help feeling that Jimmy Sherlock has succeeded in getting in some deadly work of a mysterious nature. It's on the cards that I may find at Cannes or Nice that the trip is finished, and Brown is finished too. Then, as I can't and won't part from my Goddess without a Titanic struggle, I might find it convenient to tell my mother all, throw myself on her mercy, and get her to intercede with Miss Randolph for me. You may argue that her views regarding the fair Barrow are likely to militate against co-operation in this new direction; but I can be eloquent on occasion, and even a mother must see that a Barrow is nothing beside a Goddess.
Altogether, I am nervous. The future looks wobbly, and it is not a pleasant sensation to feel that one is being secretly undermined. Jimmy had better look out, though. The first shadow of proof I get that he's breaking his half of the bargain he
