“When can we be alone together?” She asked him, never loosening her grip. "Tell me the truth, I implore you," cried Thames. He leaned towards her as though anxious to see more of her face than that faint delicate profile gleaming like marble in the uncertain light. The misty caravans of which she had dreamed were become actualities. Then a third secretarial opening occurred and renewed her hopes again: a position as amanuensis—with which some of the lighter duties of a nurse were combined— to an infirm gentleman of means living at Twickenham, and engaged upon a great literary research to prove that the “Faery Queen” was really a treatise upon molecular chemistry written in a peculiar and picturesquely handled cipher.
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