She had lost her nerve, and there was no more freedom in London for her that night. Checking an ominous cough, that, ever and anon, convulsed her lungs, the poor woman addressed a few parting words to her companion, who lingered at the doorway as if he had something on his mind, which he did not very well know how to communicate. "I will set about it instantly. Finally she fell into reflection. She loved to walk through the gardens, graced with columns that loomed overhead. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances.
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