"I lull a fancy, trouble-tost."
Miss Swancourt, it is eleven o'clock."
She was looking out of her dressing-room window on the first floor, and Knight was regarding her from the terrace balustrade, upon which he had been idly sitting for some time -- dividing the glances of his eye between the pages of a book in his hand, the brilliant hues of the geraniums and calceolarias, and the open window above-mentioned.
"Yes, it is, I know. I am coming."
He drew closer, and under the window.
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Chapter 28
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