He was an imaginative young man. I suppose this is the sort of damned rubbish—” “Oh! Ssh, Peter!” cried Miss Stanley. ‘I suppose I need not ask to which other soldier you refer. Everywhere I went and rapped at a door I found behind it another dreadful dingy woman—another fallen queen, I suppose— dingier than the last, dirty, you know, in grain. Or I should have made love to you long ago. You see I am rather obstinate. I came here peaceably, and I only ask for a few words with you. ” The man hesitated. “Dear friend,” she said, “this is a matter which you must leave to me to do as I think best. ‘But I’ve known that for years. Good night.
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