Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. The less she lived, in fact, the better. The coach was slowing down, and he realised that they had arrived in Golden Square. " "Is this your notable scheme!" asked the knight, scornfully. He wanted to know what the joke against him was—if any. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. “I am convinced you haven’t thought this out,” he went on. As she neared the bottom of the dip in Piccadilly she saw a woman approaching her from the opposite direction—a tall woman who at the first glance seemed altogether beautiful and fine. A corner could hold the promise of a shelf of dainty crystals, volcanic ices of rainbow colors, or figurines of saints sculpted from horn and bone reenacting their martyrdoms on delicate miniature wooden stages. Die game. “Good-bye,” he said earnestly.
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