But what else he saw fit to teach her I do not care to stipulate. Even given that he was hopelessly enamoured of the wench, a fact which was obvious to the meanest intelligence. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it. A wave of pity went over him—pity for the patient, the girl, and his friend. In rushed Mr. ’ Gosse blinked. You see—I didn’t understand. “Let us walk round to Covent Garden,” he suggested. She is Bohemian to the fingertips.
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