” “Mr. \" Michelle drifted into a reverie. Turning off again on the left, down Seacoal Lane, they arrived at the mouth of a dark, narrow alley, into which they plunged; and, at the farther extremity found a small yard, overlooked by the blank walls of a large gloomy habitation. She turned them down and gently placed the violin back in its red fake fur lined chamber. An uncomfortable silence followed. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. A delicate flush of colour streamed into her cheeks.
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