But how to avail himself of it was the question, for in his present garb he was sure to be recognised. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Celeste introduced him to me—oh, how Celeste hated me! She must have known. " "Off!" she exclaimed, breaking from his embrace with a scream. It was he who saw them first coming down the room—Annabel in a wonderful white satin gown in front, and Sir John stiff, unbending, disapproving, bringing up the rear. “He’s got almost to like it. She came in while he was still in the throes, conviction battling with commonsense, his own apprehension. If not, I'll take a cheerful glass with you at the City of Oxford, on my way to Tyburn. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. “Don’t!” she said, weakly, as he had bent down and put one arm about her and seized her hands with his disengaged hand and kissed her—kissed her almost upon her lips. There is only Gerald to see me, after all.
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