‘And take you in his place, you think?’
‘Perhaps; I don’t know.’ ‘What a fool you must think me!’ said Mrs. Montmorency, sarcastically. ‘I am to rake up all my past life, make myself the common talk of the world, all to oblige you. Can’t do it, mon cher. It wouldn’t be fair, either to myself or to the man.’
At that moment a hansom passed, and she beckoned to the driver with her parasol.
‘Au revoir,’ she cried, stepping into the vehicle. ‘Come and see me in a few days, and I shall have had time to think it over.’
CHAPTER XVIII.—A SOLAR BIOLOGIST
What’s this? Heyday! Magic! Witchcraft!
Passing common hedge and ditch-craft!
You whose sold no magic troubles,