You were very good. For a time he would be the grim Protestant Flagellant, pursuing the idea of self-castigation. It arises, I think, from an over developed sense of humour. His face brightened at the sight of her, and he came toward her. Annabel shook her head. Skirting the noble gardens of Montague House, (now, we need scarcely say, the British Museum,) the party speedily reached Great Russell Street,—a quarter described by Strype, in his edition of old Stow's famous Survey, "as being graced with the best buildings in all Bloomsbury, and the best inhabited by the nobility and gentry, especially the north side, as having gardens behind the houses, and the prospect of the pleasant fields up to Hampstead and Highgate; insomuch that this place, by physicians, is esteemed the most healthful of any in London. He had little money about him, and unless friends come to his aid he must be treated as a pauper. Nor can we. Not so Gosse. It’s only as if I’d begun to know you the day before yesterday or there-abouts. I was stupid—stupid and impulsive beyond measure to burst upon you in this way. ‘His wife? Pah!’ ‘You’re saying she is not his wife?’ ‘I am saying nothing. She practiced swaddling on a doll, pretending to pat the head of her imaginary infant boy. “Where am I?” he muttered. “He has asked to see some one,” he whispered to the doctor.
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