The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. McClintock, striking a match to relight his cigar, broke the spell. To be confronted with the girl’s damned Frenchman of a husband was another matter altogether. ” “Rather! But I wonder why you don’t mean it?” “Because, I suppose, the other thing is better. You two have a good time. ‘Still more would I be so if he had come himself to tell me this.
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