"Aw, piffle!" he said, half aloud and rather disgustedly, as he stepped out into the sunshine. Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. "Enough," said the widow, gratefully. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. He insisted on buying this girl for two hundred mex. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. ’ A radiant smile dawned. , probably tried to become a hooker, I don’t know.
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