“Come with me. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. And now let's go back to the Shovels, and finish our brandewyn and bier, Muntmeester. ’ She drew a heavy breath. There you will be, in an inner temple. ’ ‘Oh, this is becoming nonsensical,’ exclaimed Lucilla. She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. ‘I should have thought it was obvious. Gently she raised his head and withdrew the coat from under the pillow. Her body was perpetually tanned, despite the approach of winter. If ever I did meet a man I could love, I should love him”—her voice dropped again—“platonically. ‘Why did you bring him? I hate him.
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