If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable. We aren’t afraid; we don’t bother. “I’m glad you’re all right,” he said, “because we want you to do us a favour. "Not the sort of stories young ladies should read. ‘Still—here? Wasting your—time. "Then his case is hopeless. Here goes. "You don't recollect me, I presume?" premised the stranger, taking a seat.
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