And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. The galleries adjoining it were crowded with spectators,—so was the roof of a large tavern, then the only house standing at the end of the Edgeware Road,—so were the trees,—the walls of Hyde Park,—a neighbouring barn, a shed,—in short, every available position. ‘I do not wish to be like him, but it is entirely reasonable that it should be so. She went about, intentlooking and self-possessed, trim and fine, concealing her emotions whatever they were, as the realities of her position opened out before her. ‘Your niece, ma’am. Manning,” she said, “I warned you not to idealize me. But you belong to me—and I want you. She twanged the catgut under her fingers.
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