He dined, and then pleaded a political engagement. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. . ‘I am entirely English. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck. "I'm tired of the life I'm leading. I do not choose the vicomte, for that would be foolish. The parlour was cluttered but cosy. .
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