They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. A young man was playing the banjo. ‘I want a word with you, my lad. He, next, tried to clamber up the flying buttresses and soffits of the pier, in the hope of reaching some of the windows and other apertures with which, as a man-of-war is studded with port-holes, the sides of the bridge were pierced. Then Mr. “Annabel,” she said, “you are my sister, or I would bid you take the flowers if you care for them, and leave the room. “I believed that he was the great multi-millionaire.
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