She began to gather up her poor little grip and closed her hand firmly upon her purse.

Drouet arose, kicked his legs to straighten his trousers, and seized his clean yellow grip.
"I suppose your people will be here to meet you ?" he said.

"Let me carry your grip." "Oh, no," she said.

"I'd rather you wouldn't.

I'd rather you wouldn't be with me when I meet my sister." "All right," he said in all kindness.