st!—Only, noe. ? Not like t so narroill , still brigurning into reet, o step into t s colours. I y, broken, unpaved. t up, on eitattered cloty picture-frames and coloured glasses spilling from t, ate again, o come so suddenly upon to see trays, or piled, s; to see torn, and foxed, and bleace unnerves me. I stop, and cakes one up. trap of Love.—I kno, I title so many times to my uncle I kno almost by !
ts ching; and I walk on. More shops, more books, more men; and finally a window, a
little brig. ts, rings. treys name upon it, in letters of flaking gold. I see it, and s stumble.
Inside, t expected t. to books and prints, and ts, besides. tand at tently t look up ep and my skirts give a rustle, turn tare. But I am used to stares, by no ttle ing-table, ting at it, dressed in a coat and sleeves. ares, as ts up. are you looking for? h is dry.
I say, quietly, Im looking for Mr rey. I rey.
omers s a little, and look me oVfer again. Mr rey, one a little crey doesnt nt to o t an appointment?
Mr rey kno need an appointment. tomers. s your business h him?
Its private, I say. ill you take me to o me?
t be someto my look, eps back.
Im not sure, after all, if nt to o ts—do you knoairs.
t me go to .
I dont give me a paper, and Ill e my name. . ill you give me a paper?
fie does not move. believe he
house.
t, if I must, I say.
You cannot here!
t ; and I there.
tomers; picks up a pencil and puts it
down.
If you will? I say.
you s, o , if it turns out in.1 I nod. Put your name on ting.
I begin to e. t Ricold me once— o e, Maud Lilly. I am afraid t last— remembering somet tea.
I fold it, and to les into tens, tles again. tsteps. ures to me. I .
And, as I do, one of tomers closes c mind ly, meaning ts all. Anyone can see, t youre a lady . . . o t tone. Of course you do. you?
I say noteps back.
ere seein