“You will pardon me, sir,” he said in a subdued tone, “but I think that you have forgotten to look at your engagement book. ‘You don’t favour her, bar the black hair. The important secret remained locked in my breast, but I resolved to be avenged. Its shouting now did in some occult manner convey a protest that Mr. But it is all over now, and presently there will be some one else. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. And I’ve read, and thought, and guessed, and looked—until MY innocence—it’s smirched.
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