” So they went this time to the Rococo, in Germain Street, and up-stairs to a landing upon which stood a bald-headed waiter with whiskers like a French admiral and discretion beyond all limits in his manner. . ’ ‘I beg your pardon?’ said Miss Froxfield frostily. ” She glared at him balefully. . But I'd a mind to try whether you really loved him as much as you pretended. October arrived; and in another week the court would be sitting at the Old Bailey. She found herself anxious to read more of him, and the next Wednesday she went to the British Museum and hunted first among the half-crown magazines for his essays and then through various scientific quarterlies for his research papers.
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