At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music. “Garçon,” he said, “will you ask the gentleman at the next table if he will do me the honour of taking a glass of wine with me. “Oh! I wish,” she said, “that people thought alike about these things. I’m behaving shockingly, I know. The poor fellow's half smothered. She cried out with the pain of it. You are not with the Kent militia, are you?’ ‘West Kent, yes. I am aware that you ran away from there, but—’ ‘Certainly I ran away,’ she said, meeting his gaze with defiance in her own. " The poor widow hung her head, and pressed her child closer to her breast.
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