You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. A lean young man in spectacles pursued her for some time, crying “Courage! Courage!” Somebody threw a dab of mud at her, and some of it got down her neck. ‘I’m damned if I see what you have to complain of,’ uttered Charvill, a faintly bewildered note underlying his irascibility. He never asked questions; he never addressed his companions; and frequently he took off his cap and wiped his forehead. Then she burst into a peal of laughter. “So you’re the one my son has been talking about.
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