‘You put that thing away now, missie. Her parents have more money than God. Mr. Jacques, Jacques!’ His face was white, but his eyes were open, if a trifle glazed. She held out her hand frankly. But he had now lost the precise spot; and thinking he had examined the drain, turned his attention to another quarter. Her slender throat was encircled by a black riband, with a small locket attached to it; and upon the top of her head rested a diminutive lace cap. He was an officer, and a person of very great sense, and altogether a desirable parti. She took the piece of paper and unfolded it in the safety of her lap. Only au revoir. “But it makes me feel inhuman,” he added.
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