It seemed to him that a sort of mist had risen up between them. Such was the simple code that displayed itself in all his thoughts. Vite, I pray you. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. " "Gem'men o' the votch!" cried Sharples, as loudly as a wheezy cough would permit him, "my noble pris'ner—ough! ough;—the Markis o' Slaughterford ——" Further speech was cut short by a volley of execrations from the angry guardians of the night. Roddy muffed two. “She tried everything, and last of all she tried the stage. Voilà tout, as Melusine herself would say. But you! Why the devil did you marry her? That's the thing that confounds me. CHAPTER XXXI.
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