—"Oh! about that boy, Thames Darrell. The vast mirrored chamber, with its four little square window bays, two either side of the large raised dais that led to the French doors, was very full of company for the start of the Little Season. Here he was preparing to leap over the hedge into the fields on the left, when he was intercepted by two horsemen, who, hearing the shouts, rode up and struck at him with the butt-ends of their heavy riding-whips. According to what I’ve heard, you oughtn’t to be here. I know nothing of that young lady. It's fortunate we've no more Jack Sheppards, or I should stand but a poor chance. Sheppard, so that if the blow had been stricken she must have received it. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. She spoke with a certain odd deliberation carefully chosen words which fell like drops of ice upon the man who sat listening. You’re NOT to go.
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