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Stevenson, Robert Louis, 1850-1894

"St. Ives, Being the Adventures of a French Prisoner in England"

There could be
no doubt, from Mr. Ronald's attitude, that he worshipped the very
chair she sat on. But I was quite ruthless. I laid my hand on his
shoulder, as he was stooping over her like a hen over a chicken.
'Excuse me for one moment, Mr. Gilchrist!' said I.
He started and span about in answer to my touch, and exhibited a
face of inarticulate wonder.
'Yes!' I continued, 'it is even myself! Pardon me for
interrupting so agreeable a tete-a-tete, but you know, my good
fellow, we owe a first duty to Mr. Robbie. It would never do to
risk making a scene in the man's drawing-room; so the first thing I
had to attend to was to have you warned. The name I go by is
Ducie, too, in case of accidents.'
'I--I say, you know!' cried Ronald. 'Deuce take it, what are you
doing here?'
'Hush, hush!' said I. 'Not the place, my dear fellow--not the
place. Come to my rooms, if you like, to-night after the party, or
to-morrow in the morning, and we can talk it out over a segar. But
here, you know, it really won't do at all.'
Before he could collect his mind for an answer, I had given him my
address in St. James Square, and had again mingled with the crowd.
Alas! I was not fated to get back to Flora so easily! Mr. Robbie
was in the path: he was insatiably loquacious; and as he continued
to palaver I watched the insipid youths gather again about my idol,
and cursed my fate and my host.


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