"'You've a long journey before you. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. But you must get him into the chair as fast as you can, and hurry off to Newgate. Tears began to stream from her cheeks. Diane suggested to him that he retire early, and he did so agreeably, halfknowing it to be an order. Now the pig knew where to find her—for it would not take long for a Catholic to locate the convent in Golden Square—even if she escaped him here. He would ask her to come to dinner with him in some little Italian or semiBohemian restaurant in the district toward Soho, or in one of the more stylish and magnificent establishments about Piccadilly Circus, and for the most part she did not care to refuse. Do you have a car?” She asked. She acted as her mother had taught her to.
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