“Didn’t you know he was married?” asked Miss Klegg, and was struck by a thought that made her glance quickly at her companion. Last night Mr. I did not care—no woman really cares—to play the beggar maid to your King Cophetua. She had no inkling of that insupportable wrong. He tired of his popcorn and placed it under his seat. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. As she came in this morning she saw that the lamp was still burning in the study; so she stopped at the door. ‘So this is Pottiswick’s French spy. I must apologize for my young puppy of a clerk.
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