“I saw you in a sort of sloping, slippery place, holding on by your hands and slipping. ‘Would it so? What sort of a girl is she, then?’ ‘She’s a consummate devil,’ Gerald declared roundly. Fatigued by his previous exertions, and incumbered by his fetters, he was by no means—though ordinarily remarkably swift of foot—a match for his foes, who were fast gaining upon him. You’ll be telling me Gerald did not catch you snooping at the Bicknacres, I suppose. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. She looked steadfastly out.
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