Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Mr. ‘I’ll play you at your own game,’ he growled, holding the foreshortened foil in place with rigid control. Let her have her own way in all things, for she will always be just. ‘Bon. Wood, in a whisper, as he filled a rummer to the brim, not to forget the health of the Chevalier de Saint George—a proposition to which the lady immediately responded by drinking the toast aloud.
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