young Englishman.

"And what must I do?" she reiterated.

I told her to give me time. One is not in the habit of meeting
abducted Lights of the Harem in the Embankment Gardens, beneath
the National Liberal Club. It was, in fact, a bewildering
occurrence. I looked around me. Nothing seemed to have happened
during the last ten minutes. A pale young man on the next bench,
whom I had noticed when I entered, was reading a dirty pink
newspaper. Pigeons and sparrows hopped about unconcernedly. On
the file of cabs, just perceptible through the foliage, the
cabmen lolled in listless attitudes. Sir Bartle Frere stolidly
kept his back to me, not the least interested in this Gilbert a
Becket story. I always thought something was wrong with that
man's character.

What on earth could I tell her to do? The best course was to
find the infernal Harry. I asked her how she came to lose him.
It appears he escorted her ashore at Southampton, after having
scarcely set eyes on her during the voyage, put her into a
railway carriage with strict injunctions not to stir until he
claimed her, and then disappeared into space.

"Did he give you your ticket?"

"No."

"What a young blackguard!" I exclaimed.