"Yes, sir," said McClintock, as he sat down; "that's South Sea stuff, that yarn of yours. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. The sing-song girl rose and meekly pattered out of the office into the night. Heard of your last escape. ” She looked at him wistfully, but with some unwilling doubt in her wrinkled forehead.
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