. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. She nodded. But though the shot took effect, as was evident from the stains on the ground, the villain escaped. He changed his mind however, and simply motioned to her to proceed. She went about in a negligent November London that had become very dark and foggy and greasy and forbidding indeed, and tried to find that modest but independent employment she had so rashly assumed. She could even think of what had happened. The Jacobite.
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