For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. She reads novels—and history—and all sorts of things. Some years ago, in 1715, just before the Rebellion, I was rash enough to league myself with the Jacobite party, and by Wild's machinations got clapped into Newgate, whence I was glad to escape with my head upon my shoulders. And yet—I love you. You know they say, as, indeed, I have just quoted already, that all bad poetry is written in a state of emotion, but I have no doubt that this is true of bad offers of marriage. He HAD followed her! What had he followed her for? He must have followed her all the way from beyond Grosvenor Square.
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