“I knew Mr. “This wonderful affection of yours for my sister, does it date from your first meeting with her in Paris?” He hesitated. By many a highwayman many a draught Of nutty-brown ale at Saint Giles's was quaft, Until the old lazar-house chanced to fall down, And the broad-bottom'd bowl was removed to the Crown. ‘André? Que dit-il?’ ‘My wife does not understand,’ said the fellow, frowning deeply. The sun lingered, finally dropping beyond the dark canopy of pine trees at the edge of the park. They did not speak until he had driven past town limits and were on the highway. He had saluted her with elaborate civility, his eyes distended with indecipherable meanings. ‘He could have little comfort there, indeed.
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