that now whether she gave her permission, or whether she withheld it, he no longer yearned to be guilty of any such freedom.
Still, Miss Pearson was a very good sort for all that, and the heir to the barony raised his hat to her this morning in his politest manner, although perhaps it is right to remark that he would have done so on any other morning, and even if Miss Pearson had not been such a very good sort—but in that case he might have gone a little higher up the street, as far as Miss Jackson.
"Mornin', Miss Pearson. How are we?"
Miss Pearson was so-so. Had been to the Coliseum to see Richard III the previous evening.
"Have you been to Drury yet, Miss Pearson?"
No, but Miss Pearson's best boy had promised to take her next Monday—Monday being her night out.
"I envy you, Miss Pearson," said the heir to the barony with emotion. "And the young chap—of course."
"Mr. Shelmerdine," said Miss Pearson, "do you know what my impression is?"
Mr. Shelmerdine had not the faintest notion what Miss Pearson's impression was.
"My impression, Mr. Shelmerdine," said Miss Pearson, "is that you are in love."
No rebutting evidence being put in, Miss Pearson
