“This is my way back to my side of the Park,” she said. She stole a few glances at John as she stood and played the pieces. “Why did you lie to that man?” he asked fiercely. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. “I heard the other day that she’d been taken in by some cad of a fellow who was cutting a great dash in Paris, personating Meysey Hill, the great railway man. You did not see me, I know. In the northwest angle, there was a small pen for female offenders, and, on the south, a more commodious enclosure appropriated to the master-debtors and strangers. Love is a great thing, and happiness a joy. Her tone should have warned him, but he was too much in earnest to regard it.
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