Her heart ached; and that puzzled her. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. She was naturally weaker, she would tire quicker, and she need not concern herself with the peculiar obligations of honour obtaining amongst gentlemen. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. "Well, well; look who's here!" cried Spurlock. John said nothing. An admirable alternative presented itself and she sighed, spreading her hands.
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