This is not the conduct of a jeune demoiselle. They reached Wimbledon, and Ramage whipped out to hand Miss Stanley to the platform as though she had been a duchess, and she descended as though such attentions from middle-aged, but still gallant, merchants were a matter of course. The policeman raised his voice, slightly agitated. “Who is the tenant of these rooms?” he inquired. He was made welcome as McClintock's agent; but he politely declined all the proffered courtesies. “Does a bear shit in the woods?” He said. But I found it no laughing matter, I can assure you. I have gone without dinner for three nights, and—come in.
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