They had not so far been of much personal interest to Gerald, but tonight was different. Forgive me?” She pleaded. " "What proof have you that I am?"—was the return bolt. ” “No, I wanted to talk to you, Lucy, to invite you to a dinner party. “Suppose, for example, I go to this dance?” “You won’t. I was the black sheep, I was hurried out of the way. The drawers at the moment were too busy to attend to her, and she would have seized the opportunity of examining, unperceived, the assemblage within, through a little curtained window that overlooked the adjoining chamber, if an impediment had not existed in the shape of Baptist Kettleby, whose portly person entirely obscured the view. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. .
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