“You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. He was not a sailor. What!— you know so little of that child? She ran away from you. We can’t be lovers in the ordinary sense, but we can be great and intimate friends. Kneebone," she added, drawing up her magnificent figure to its full height, and making the heavy cudgel whistle through the air, "look to yourself. No doubt— because he did not understand you—he thought you had run away with someone. A hansom stopped a little way off. Her expression was a little changed, less innocent, more discerning. She took her hat from the peg in the corner and began to put it on.
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