It was not my intention to approach or address him in the garden, our terms of acquaintance not warranting such a step; I had only meant to view him in the crowd⁠—myself unseen: coming upon him thus alone, I withdrew. But he was looking out for me, or rather for her who had been with me; therefore he descended the steps, and followed me down the alley.

“You know Miss Fanshawe? I have often wished to ask whether you knew her,” said he.

“Yes: I know her.”

“Intimately?”

“Quite as intimately as I wish.”

“What have you done with her now?”

“Am I her keeper?” I felt inclined to ask; but I simply answered, “I have shaken her well, and would have shaken her better, but she escaped out of my hands and ran away.”