She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her. "Come Bess,—no whimpering. Nothing is wrong that you do. ’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment. The Master of the Mint. Was she a fool to wish a person of a disposition altogether not pleasing to marry her? Was it not true that he made a game with her very often? Had he not been extremely interfering from the beginning? And had he not kissed her, just when— Her thoughts skidded to a stop. ‘No, I don’t see much future in pursuing her down this passage.
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