"I witnessed the bet. She would come back and write letters, carefully planned and written letters, or read some book she had fetched from Mudie’s—she had invested a half-guinea with Mudie’s—or sit over her fire and think. A broken laugh followed the action. She could feel his warm little body trying to snuggle into her, trying to wriggle loose of his swaddling cloth. I made Hainault’s acquaintance, stood him drinks, lent him money. He fancied that the turnkeys had discovered his flight and were in pursuit of him,—that they had climbed up the chimney,—entered the Red Room,— tracked him from door to door, and were now only detained by the gate which he had left unbroken in the chapel.
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