” “You are separated from your wife?” “Yes, but do you know how?” “Not exactly. ‘Then it is that you will have pity? Here we have come, we poor, for aid. What were your findings?” Lucy asked. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. You are afraid of kisses. Besides, he was a Yale man. It had evidently seen better days before being relegated to the ministrations of a hackney coachman, one who evidently served the less affluent inhabitants of London. And she had been doubting since that walk in the Zoological Gardens whether, indeed, he did simply care for her. This path, bordered on each side by high privet hedges of the most beautiful green, soon brought them to a stile. She had tried him as a Crusader, in which guise he seemed plausible but heavy—“There IS something heavy about him; I wonder if it’s his mustache?”—and as a Hussar, which made him preposterous, and as a Black Brunswicker, which was better, and as an Arab sheik. He fell back upon the pillows with a little moan, clutching the slim white fingers fiercely. The prisoner breathed with difficulty.
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