The young officer sat in front, his hat perfectly straight. "He shan't go," cried Edgeworth Bess, holding him by the other hand. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. K-kimble, sir,’ stammered the lad. A door, it may be remembered, opened from Wild's dwelling into this yard. "Where is he, then?" demanded the other, hastily. Why, he can scarcely be twenty. The small grey feathers of her exquisitely shaped fan waved gently backwards and forwards.
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