"Hush!" he cried; and throwing the ribbon down he rose and stepped a pace or so aside. "Forgive me, Eleanor," he said to her, as she looked at him, "I loved you once—God knows—but now—it is too late."
CHAPTER VIII.
SPRETÆ INJURIA FORMÆ.
Mrs. Oswald Carey rose the following morning before anybody was stirring. She passed down the staircase noiselessly and opened the front door, when, much to her annoyance, she found herself face to face with Mr. Jawkins, who was smoking a matutinal pipe on the front steps.
"Whither away so early, Mrs. Carey?"
Her first impulse was to tell a falsehood, but the keen, clever countenance of her interrogator convinced her of the futility of such a plan.
"To London," she said, simply; "can I be of service to you there?"
"You know I depend upon you to sing 'My Queen' after the déjeuner."