He drove in cabs from Harley Street to Wimole Street, and from Wimpole Street to Brooke Street—and he saw Sir William this and Sir Henry that, and Mr. The-other-thing, the great heart specialist.
And then he bought a gardenia, and went home and dressed himself in his most beautiful frock-coat and his softest white silk tie, and put the gardenia in his button-hole—and went to see the Girl.
"Looks like as if he was going to a wedding," said his landlady.
When he had told the Girl everything, and when she was able to do anything but laugh and cry and cling to him with thin hands, she said—
"Dear—I do so hate to think badly of anyone. But do you really think that man was mistaken? He's very, very clever."
"My child—Sir Henry—and Sir William and Mr.—"
"Ah! I don't mean that. I know you're all right. Thank God! Oh, thank God! I mean, don't you think he may have lied to you to prevent your—marrying me?"
