All that was needed to complete the simile was that the girl should burst into song. Some of the hotel guests can act as witnesses. Mac—the old gossip—knew about everything going on in that part of the world; and if Enschede was anything up to the picture the girl had drawn, McClintock would have heard of him, naturally. Perhaps there were experiences she would never confide to any man. Why shouldn’t we be martyrs? There’s nothing else for most of us, anyhow. “Fred,” he said, “do you remember taking me to dinner at the ‘Ambassador’s,’ one evening last September, to meet a girl who was singing there? Hamilton and Drummond and his lot were with us. \"It's getting late John. When I'm alone I don't mind. You only mean a secret for a little time?” “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. They came from every part, from the pit, the circle and the gallery, even from the stalls. Unless they remind him now and then not to. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. I don't think.
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