" "I don't care if he is," rejoined Thames, boldly. ‘What is it?’ asked Roding. . ‘Eh bien, Eugénie. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Almost at once she had comprehended that she was expected to write down her name and address, which she did, in slanting cobwebby lettering, perhaps a trifle laboriously. 277 “I was beginning to think that I would never see you again, Lucy. “Indeed, you could have no more faithful friend, you could find no one more anxious to serve you. This too shall pass.
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