Terminations

The Death of the Lion-4

One day, in Sloane Street, I found myself questioning Paraday’s landlord, who had come to the door in answer to my knock. Two vehicles, a barouche and a smart hansom, were drawn up before the house.

“In the drawing room, sir? Mrs. Weeks Wimbush.”

“And in the dining room?”

“A young lady, sir – waiting: I think a foreigner.”

It was three o clock, and on days when Paraday didn’t lunch out he attached a value to these subjugated hours. On which days, however, didn’t the dear man lunch out? Mrs. Wimbush, at such a crisis, would have rushed round immediately after her own repast. I went into the dining room first, postponing the pleasure of seeing how, upstairs, the lady of the barouche would, on my arrival, point the moral of my sweet solicitude. No one took such an interest as herself in h