Edgeworth Bess and Poll Maggot are dying to see you. ‘I doubt it. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. Peste, but everything had become difficult. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. “Do you mean to say that you have been here ever since I came?” “I am afraid that I must confess it,” he answered. Just as he completed this operation, the file broke. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s. Gerald smiled and crooked his elbow.
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