“Oh yes,” said Miss Klegg; “I thought every one knew. He nodded silently, too full for words. You really ought not to stay here and talk to us. That would be myself, or if she lived, Mary’s daughter. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. The next hour makes, or mars you for ever. Quite!” He sat in the arm-chair and took tea, and consumed several of the extra cakes which she had sent out for and talked to her and expressed himself, looking very earnestly at her with his deep-set eyes, and carefully avoiding any crumbs on his mustache the while. The Frenchman had moved back into Piccadilly from Down Street, at which the lad following him had immediately sauntered away a yard or two.
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