And one of the
articles, evidently written by a man who had been considerably
farther east than San Francisco, ended with the following
paragraph:
In short, it was sublime, and with every movement and every
gesture there was a something hidden, a suggestion of a
personality and mysterious charm that we have always heretofore
considered the exclusive property of just one woman in the world.
But Desiree Le Mire is not in San Francisco; though we declare
that the performance of last evening was more than enough to
rouse certain suspicions, especially in view of Le Mire's
mysterious disappearance from New York.
I took the paper to Desiree in her room, and while she read the
article stood gazing idly from a window. It was about eleven in
the morning; Harry had gone for a walk, saying that he would
return in half an hour to join us at breakfast.
"Well?" said Desiree when she had finished.
"But it is not well," I retorted, turning to face her. "I do not
reproach you; you are being amused, and so, I confess, am I. But
your name--that is, Le Mire--has been mentioned, and discovery is
sure to follow. We must leave San Francisco at once.
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