" "Hold!" interposed Winifred, gravely. Moving swiftly to the end of the corridor, he pushed open a door at random and entered a large room, which looked to have been a saloon, judging from the faded gilt and crimson wall-paper, a mirror above the fireplace which was surrounded by an ornate gilded frame, now sadly tarnished, and a worn Chippendale sofa with striped upholstery and tasselled cushions. Indeed, she did not want to think of him as loving her. "Where are you?" "Here," replied Mrs. “One would think I had said nothing about the matter. While this was going on, Blueskin, seeing no notice whatever taken of him, coughed loudly and repeatedly. He will not come. She said as much to him. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. It became a sort of duel at last between them, and all the others sat and listened—every one, that is, except the Alderman, who had got the blond young man into a corner by the green-stained dresser with the aluminum things, and was sitting with his back to every one else, holding one hand over his mouth for greater privacy, and telling him, with an accent of confidential admission, in whispers of the chronic struggle between the natural modesty and general inoffensiveness of the Borough Council and the social evil in Marylebone. Then he would turn his face to her, and she would have to think of herself in his eyes.
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