Catch him, she begged silently. This was number 13, Montague Street, familiarly spoken of in the neighbourhood as “White’s. You need fear no interruption from him, or any of his myrmidons. I'm likely to get up any time in the night to work. “I do hope I have been able to make you understand how I feel, that you don’t consider me a hopeless prig. ” She laughed at him easily and mirthfully. It seemed to her that it was her duty to get up and clamor to go home to her room, to protest against his advances as an insult.
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