But here the resemblance stopped. Leonardo was to me perhaps like a father, not a lover as you think. Past her shot the little old lady in the bonnet, running incredibly fast, but otherwise still alertly respectable, and she was making a strange threatening sound as she ran, such as one would use in driving ducks out of a garden—“B-rr-r-r-r—!” and pawing with black-gloved hands. The costume of this personage was somewhat singular, and might have passed for a masquerading habit, had not the imperturbable gravity of his demeanour forbidden any such supposition. Arrived there, their first object was to seek out Davies, by whom they were conducted to the lady's retreat,—a lone habitation, situated on the outskirts of Saint George's Fields in Southwark. “Some day you will be my wife, and it would not be well for either of us to remember that in these unhappy days you and I were separated. He displayed none of the airy optimism of their previous talk over the downland gate. ’ Melusine did not reply. 'But I don't desire to spoil sport,—not I.
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