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"Your business, Sir?" returned the other, stiffly. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about. . A. “Like what, Lucy?” She saw the panic threaten to overtake him. She was consumed by misery and hate. She saw herself begin a slow, sinuous dance: and stop suddenly in the middle of a figure, conscious that the dance was not impromptu, her own, but native—the same dance she had quitted but a few minutes gone. ‘I told you I could handle her. “‘Go it, missie,’ they said; “kick aht!’ “I swore at that policeman—and disgusted him.

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