” “I’ve been looking forward to meeting you, Lucy. “I have just ordered a carriage for her. You must forgive the poet’s license I take. She remembered abruptly that she was really living upon his money. There he stands. Even in his fevered hours, so the girl had said, his tongue had not betrayed him. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. like rabies. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. Lucy blushed from toes to forehead, feeling her pace accelerate. Sir John, by instinct and training, was an unimaginative person.
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