He suspected Bosinney of
being too much at Montpellier Square.
'This fellow,' he thought, 'may not be a scamp; his face is not a bad
one, but he's a queer fish. I don't know what to make of him. I shall
never know what to make of him! They tell me he works like a nigger, but
I see no good coming of it. He's unpractical, he has no method. When he
comes here, he sits as glum as a monkey. If I ask him what wine he'll
have, he says: "Thanks, any wine." If I offer him a cigar, he smokes it
as if it were a twopenny German thing. I never see him looking at June
as he ought to look at her; and yet, he's not after her money. If
she were to make a sign, he'd be off his bargain to-morrow. But she
won't--not she! She'll stick to him! She's as obstinate as fate--She'll
never let go!'
Sighing deeply, he turned the paper; in its columns, perchance he might
find consolation.
And upstairs in her room June sat at her open window, where the spring
wind came, after its revel across the Park, to cool her hot cheeks and
burn her heart.
CHAPTER III--DRIVE WITH SWITHIN
Two lines of a certain song in a certain famous old school's songbook
run as follows:
'How the buttons on his blue frock shone, tra-la-la! How he carolled and
he sang, like a bird!.
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