Richard Forrest, Bachelor — page 152: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

A GOLDEN FUTURE PREDICTED. 143 rupting herself and leaning forward. ‘‘There he is now, walking. I want to speak to him.’’ She poked the coachman in the back with her parasol and ordered him to stop. | ‘‘Here you are!’’ she cried, familiarly, as the man ad- dressed hurried toward them. ‘‘No, we’ll get out, for I de- clare I’m stiff with sitting. Help Madame Philippe, please. ’’ He sprang forward at her bidding, and then it was per- ceptible that Madame Philippe was slightly lanae—in fact, her right hip was higher than the left, but she dressed her- self so clevelry that this defect in her figure was scarcely noticeable. Miss Delmar, who had lowered her parasol in getting out of the carriage, now raised it again, and it cast a rosy shade on her face and neck. She allowed her skirts to trail behind her in the path. Signor Fabbricotti took his place beside her, and Madame Philippe, with a savoir faire which was part of her nature and training, dropped discreetly back. “Twas going to stop at your hotel on my way back,”’ - the man announced, as they walked along in the directien of the Cafe de la Cascade. ‘‘With the contract?’’ she asked, carelessly. ‘With the contract.’’ Signor Fabbricotti was, as his name would indicate, an Italian, an ex-tenor, who, when his palmy days in his own land were over, had sought fame and money on the other side of the Atlantic. Rut to his amazement, fickle fortune persistently turned a culd shoulder to him there, too, and he succeeded in finding neither. In fact, he could not se- cure an engagement in even an ordinary theater, and few managers would even give hima hearing. He was disgusted Eomichooks (€(0)