. . ’ ‘Parbleu, it is I who am the idiot?’ she scolded furiously, removing one hand and digging it into her sleeve. 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. “Thank you. We’d soon cool that temper of yours. It was true. " Voices being heard at the door, Austin flew to open it, and admitted Mr. Cheveney strolled up, a pipe in his mouth. Gianfrancesco ran from the room, tearing at his hair.
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