They walked back to 118 hand in hand. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. ‘Beg pardon, miss, but I’m told as how—’ She broke off, her eyes widening, her jaw dropping open. " "Caught you napping, eh?" rejoined Ireton, with a laugh. ’ ‘And if she can’t?’ asked Lucy. The tail-ender of this little caravan, he had been rather out of it. Corbet Kynaston, then? Sir John Packington's courier was here yesterday. ‘Very useful, of course.
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