Chapter XVII THE CHANGE IN “ALCIDE” “By-the-bye,” his neighbour asked him languidly, “who is our hostess?” “Usually known, I believe, as Lady Ferringhall,” Ennison answered, “unless I have mixed up my engagement list and come to the wrong house. ‘Woof!’ uttered Trodger, gazing at the lady in some awe. I am sorry that I do not know any one in London. ” He fumed. She took it up in her many-ringed hands and read it judicially. " He then closed the lantern, mounted without much difficulty upon the roof, and proceeded cautiously along the tiles. What would happen when next morning she returned to Morningside Park? He couldn’t turn her out of doors. That is an evil place!” She cried. I've come all these miles for this young fellow; but I don't cotton to the idea of lallygagging four weeks in this burg. “You cannot give me ultimatums. Hang the wench! Roding was right. Annabel had been here then. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow.
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