He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. Two souls in travail; one inspired by fresh hopes, the other, by fresh despairs. ‘Don’t, miss,’ uttered the boy. "Not dangerously, I hope," returned Thames; "but fly—save yourself. No, I thank you. A disagreeable young man, with red hair and a loose mouth, seated at the reporter’s table, was only too manifestly sketching her. Did the other girls thank you?” “Not really. “You remind me of the story which they tell against us over here, you know—of the Englishman who refused to be saved from drowning because he was unacquainted with his rescuer.
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