"You must not come any further."
This was so far fortunate for Mrs. Lenoir, inasmuch as otherwise she would have lost sight of those she had followed. Nature had conquered, and a faintness like the faintness of death was stealing upon her.
The man and the girl were long in bidding each other goodnight. It was said half-a-dozen times, and still he lingered, loth to leave her.
"Remember," he said, as he stood with his arm around her, "you have promised not to mention my name to your people."
"Yes, I have promised. But why won't you come and see them? I should like you to."
"It can't be done, my little bird. You are sensible enough to understand why a gentleman in my position can't run the danger of forming intimacies with common persons."
"But I am a common person," said the girl, archly challenging a contradiction.
"You are a lady, and if you are not, I'll make you one. When you are away from them, I want you to be well away. You wouldn't like to be dragged down again."
"No--you are right, I dare say. Poor Sally!"
"Not a word to her, mind. I'll have to bribe you, I see. What do you say to this?"