‘No, my poor guardian,’ Gerald mocked. "I give you joy of the capture, Mr. “Just look that through, will you. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. ” She replied dryly. . But, when I look upon his innocent face, and see how like he is to his father,—when I think of that father's shameful ending, and recollect how free from guilt he once was,—at such times, Mr. ’ With an air of real interest, he asked, ‘I suppose you did not dig a tunnel or fly in by balloon?’ The lady gazed at him blankly. Blood dripped down one side of her forehead. It did not cheer or fortify him with false courage and recklessness; it simply enveloped him in a mist of unreality. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. . He seemed wholly insensible to the rain, though it presently descended in torrents, and continued his search as ardently as before. She dived at once behind the cover of the lamproom and affected serious trouble with her shoe-lace until he was out of the station, and then she followed slowly and with extreme discretion until the bifurcation of the Avenue from the field way insured her escape. ‘You’ve found her out?’ ‘Tell us at once,’ urged Miss Froxfield.
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