They stood upon the roof of a London boarding-house in the neighborhood of RussellSquare-one of those grim shelters, the refuge of Transatlantic curiosity and Britishpenury. The girl-she represented the former race was leaning against the frail palisading, with gloomy expression and eyes set as though in fixed contemplation of the uninspiringpanorama. The young man-unmistakably, uncompromisingly English-stood with hisback to the chimney a few feet away, watching his companion. The silence between themwas as yet unbroken, had lasted, indeed, since she had stolen away from the shabbydrawing-room below, where a florid lady with a raucous voice had been shouting a musichall ditty. Close upon her heels, but without speech of any sort, he had followed. They werealmost strangers, except for the occasional word or two of greeting which the etiquette ofthe establishment demanded. Yet she had accepted his espionage without any protest ofword or look. He had followed her with a very definite object. Had she surmised it, hewondered? She had not turned her head or vouchsafed even a single question or remark tohim since he had pushed his way through the trap-door almost at her heels and stepped outon to the leads. Yet it seemed to him that she must guess
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