ToC On the same evening, in a stately chamber of a noble old mansion of Elizabeth's time, situated in Southampton Fields, two persons were seated. 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. They were those of the Irish watchman. "Flying fish. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. “See you to-night, I suppose?” He sauntered off. ‘Laisse-moi,’ she panted, shifting wildly in his hold, so that he had all to do to keep her thus imprisoned. ’ ‘But, Hilary—’ ‘Don’t you begin, Lucilla, for I won’t stand for it. She had arranged for a supper of tea, a boiled egg, and some tinned peaches. “Listen,” she said. His literary instincts were reviving. After all, she only LOOKED a woman. His arms slipped around her waist as they were on the doorstep and he kissed her lips sweetly. "No offence," returned Jonathan. “No, I’m fine.
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