“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. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. “Mid-thirties. “I know that our social order is dreadful enough,” he said, “and sacrifices all that is best and most beautiful in life. The smell of gunpowder was strong in the room. They were the same. Now, the reward?" "I have but an ill-furnished purse.
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