"
On former occasions I had put forth what I considered adroit efforts to
steal small favors from the girl, for, as already intimated, I considered
her merely a barmaid; but I had failed, and the conviction was dawning on
my mind that either she was not an ordinary barmaid or that I was the
wrong man. The first assumption would make me all the more eager, but the
second would deter any self-respecting man from further pursuit. My fears
inclined me to accept the second, and resulted in a dim sort of jealousy
of the right man, who, I suspected, was Hamilton.
When Betty started to leave me, I caught her skirt to detain her, and
said: "When George Hamilton used to come here, I was jealous of him, and
feared that he might be the 'certain customer.' But I am glad that he has
left England."
The girl blushed as she answered, "No, no, Baron Ned, there is no other
'certain customer.'" But she checked herself, evidently having said more
than she intended, and continued hurriedly: "But Master Hamilton has not
left England. He is now in the Old Swan. He asked me to say nothing of
his presence in London, but I know he would want me to tell you."
"Yes, yes, of course he would, Betty. Where is he?" I asked.
"Upstairs in bed," she answered.
"Is he sick?" I asked, rising.
"No and yes," she replied. "He is suffering from his wounds, and the
surgeon says the fever is mounting rapidly to his head.
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