After all, it was what she had been praying for—and Annabel could not have known her address. One or two of the tables were occupied by groups of fat frowzy women in flat caps, with rings on their thumbs, and baskets by their sides; and no one who had listened for a single moment to their coarse language and violent abuse of each other, would require to be told they were fish-wives from Billingsgate. But De Maupassant—sheer off! Stick to Dickens and Thackeray and Hugo. “What else did Michelle say?” “She said that the guy was all broken up about it, that he had another woman on the side or something. Sure of foot, noiseless, he made the veranda and paused at the side of one of the screened windows. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night.
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