She hesitated in answering the door, her violin still crooked underneath her chin. “Stop it!. No—you shall come with me to Waterloo. . “Dear me,” she said, “I fancy you exaggerate my fame. Who knows?—on the analogy of “Squiggles” she might come to call him “Mangles!” “I don’t think I can ever marry any one,” she said, and fell suddenly into another set of considerations that perplexed her for a time. There was no one at all in this room, but through the half-open door of one of the small apartments that gave upon it she had a glimpse of two very young girls sitting at a littered table and writing briskly.
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