\"Where have you been, young lady?\" Mike crooned, a large grin on his fat Irish face. “Allow me. ’ Then he bowed, raising his hat in salute and, crossing to the coach, spoke briefly to its driver and leapt into it without looking back. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. With a curt command to her cavalier to get up on the box and give the direction to the interested coachman, he jumped in beside the girl and shut them both into privacy. In the genuinely dissipated face there was always a suggestion of slyness in ambush, peeping out of the wrinkles around the eyes and the lips.
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