The female’s words caught at his attention, and he no longer heard what the young Poussaint girl was saying to him. Lights glimmered in the windows of the different houses; and a lamp-lighter was running from post to post on his way to Snow Hill. Her head swam. . ’ ‘But it’s my affair, Melusine. "Well that's no reason why he should treat your ladyship so shamefully, I'm sure. "You mistake,—you are mine. Something in her voice and manner conveyed an effect of unwonted gravity to him. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. .
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