" "Won't you take me?" "No; you must await my return here. This unexpected interpolation might spoil the efficacy of all that had gone before. "And so, you really suspected me?" murmured Mrs. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl.
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