‘Who the devil is Leonardo?’ demanded Roding impatiently, asking the question that had leapt into the major’s mind. The word handsome was a little beyond her grasp. Her eyes were soft and blue, arched over by dark brows, and fringed by long silken lashes. The windows were still darkened—perhaps she was not home yet. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “What if you get pregnant?” His worry came to a quick fruition. " "Your arrival was most providential," said Jack. “No,” she answered, reluctantly.
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