" CHAPTER V. S. But it's French manners, I suppose. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. ’ ‘Oh, she is English?’ repeated Alderley, interest perking up. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. ’ ‘For shame, Hilary,’ admonished his fiancée, casting a pitying glance at the refugees. And son of a pig,’ she grunted, baring her teeth.
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