There was a black fear in his heart. He took his social pleasures once a year in Hong-Kong, after Easter. “Good evening, Dorling,” he said. ” “Please get off at the next exit. Upon my word—you are Miss Pellissier, aren’t you?” “I certainly am,” she admitted. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. McClintock liked it. He used to call it his fire-escape—ha! ha! I've often used the ladder for my own convenience, but I never expected to turn it to such good account. " "Exactly my sentiments," rejoined Blueskin.
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