Earles strode into the waiting-room. Lucy trudged upstairs behind 258 him and he put his hand on her shoulder and said, “I’m sorry about this evening. To-night we leave for Marseilles. ” The man smiled at him. ‘In the bookroom, sir,’ answered the man, his eyes round as they took in the furious beauty at the visitor’s side. His tongue was hot. And catching hold of Thames, he quitted the deck. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Still, they bob up occasionally. ” 209 Clotilde was no fool.
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