"Why not?" "I'll tell you," cried a deep voice from the back of the bed. “It is no good playing a game. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. The swellings appeared under her arms and a general panic spread through the Palazzo. Rain started to pummel the roof of the pavilion, which coalesced into sheets and rumbled to the cement below. “Yes?” he said. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. ” “I will think of it,” she promised.
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