Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. “When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. At the back of her mind, dim and yet disconcerting, was the perception that she herself did not know what she wanted. From head to foot he was attired in the fashionable garb of the young man of the moment. “I say, daddy,” she began, and was suddenly short of breath.
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