Angelina's distress over these mischances was pathetic. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. A wooden balcony in one of the adjoining houses was thronged with ladies, all of whom appeared to take a lively interest in the scene, and to be full of commiseration for the criminal, not, perhaps, unmixed with admiration of his appearance. She could read that Martin had a crush on her and was perhaps even going to try and challenge John as he was the bold sort. Gosse backed, not even attempting to parry so unorthodox a use of the foil. “Beats me. .
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