‘Please to sit, monsieur. "'Sdeath! do you trifle with me, sirrah?" cried Rowland fiercely. Lucy had caught it when it was a millimeter away from hitting her teeth. "Thinking it likely you might desire to have this information, I prepared accordingly. I cannot be intimate—’ stressing the word with a deep look ‘— with one I feel to be a stranger. You ignore me! That’s not a good way to treat your only friend. She could not bear the shame of it. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care.
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