"I see him," said Chloe. "It doesn't matter. The point is that there's Boswell! There he is—no, not there; more to the left. Now, don't you see him?"
Mrs. Verulam followed her fluttering indication, and perceived a good-sized monkey, with a peculiarly plain and missing-link sort of face, seated upon a red geranium and devouring a very satisfying white rose.
"Isn't he lovely?" continued Chloe. "Isn't he a perfect specimen?"
"Of monkey beauty, no doubt, dear. But——"
"Oh, if he had seen me in those horrible trousers I should have died!" exclaimed Chloe, burying her hot face on Mrs. Verulam's shoulder.
"Are American monkeys really so dreadfully particular?"
"Not Boswell. Huskinson! He must be here. Boswell and he are like brothers."
"Not in appearance, I hope, Chloe?"
"Oh no—no; but in feeling. Huskinson must be close by. What shall I do?—what shall I do?"
"Keep quiet, and escape as soon as possible to the Elephant and Drum. Oh, there's a man——"