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” “For a little time,” she answered. “Even Katy Pfister can’t touch you now. ‘If, in truth, you are a gentleman,’ she said in a trembling tone, ‘you will move to the side that I may leave this room. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. “I can’t. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated.
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