—"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. “You remember the man in Paris who used to follow me about—Meysey Hill they called him?” He nodded. “You ask me to be engaged to you, Mr. "The marriage was never consummated," continued the imperturbable stranger. “You’re still,” he said, “in the educational years. And who knew if the men that Gerald had posted there would follow her to protect her somewhere else? In truth, where were these soldiers? She could not see them, although she assiduously searched the mist-shrouded square from the vantage point of the bay window in the large first floor room which had become her headquarters. It shall be done as you direct. Think—think of that engagement!” Their talk had come to eloquent silences that contradicted all he had to say. . ’ There was a kind of aching hunger in Gerald’s gaze.
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