"In with him!" "Ay—ay, yer hon'r," cried the foremost chairman, lending a helping hand. In this way he crossed one or two public gardens and a bowling-green,—the neighbourhood of Clerkenwell then abounded in such places of amusement,—passed the noted Ducking Pond, where Black Mary had been frequently immersed; and, striking off to the left across the fields, arrived in a few minutes at his destination. It was in another world from that in which men will die for a kiss, and touching hands lights fires that burn up lives—the world of romance, the world of passionately beautiful things. He was reaching wearily for some kind of buffer to his harrying conscience. Something forbade him to draw her toward him and seal the compact with a kiss. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley.
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