But she must stop him getting away. ‘What in the world is that?’ demanded Miss Froxfield. By this time, Jack's reputation had risen to such a height with the populace,—his exploits having become the universal theme of discourse, that the streets were almost impassable for the crowds collected to obtain a view of him. One point was that she was to wear fancy dress in the likeness of a Corsair’s bride, and the other was that she was to spend whatever vestiges of the night remained after the dance was over in London with the Widgett girls and a select party in “quite a decent little hotel” near Fitzroy Square. To-day he selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat.
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