I’m sorry. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. The Idle Apprentice. My mind is full of ideas and images that I have been cherishing and accumulating—dreams of travelling side by side, of lunching quietly together in some jolly restaurant, of moonlight and music and all that side of life, of seeing you dressed like a queen and shining in some brilliant throng—mine; of your looking at flowers in some old-world garden, our garden—there are splendid places to be got down in Surrey, and a little runabout motor is quite within my means. She formed a wild resolution, and, lest she should waver from it, she set about at once to realize it. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. Too many. I can wield a quarterstaff as well as a prize-fighter, and have beaten Figg himself at the broadsword. Glad to get back, I’m sure,” he said briskly. I had been about as foolish and selfish as a girl could be. ’ ‘A convent?’ echoed Gerald with interest. ’ ‘How shocking.
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