A crumpled-up newspaper thrown from the gallery hit her upon the cheek. Soon the trunk, portmanteau and hat box were ready. “Nigel, Nigel,” she cried. “I’m sorry. But I shall lose my wager if I stay a moment longer—so here goes. “He is evidently a friend of Mrs. Wood dandled his little charge to and fro, after the most approved nursery fashion, essaying at the same time the soothing influence of an infantine melody proper to the occasion; but, failing in his design, he soon lost all patience, and being, as we have before hinted, rather irritable, though extremely well-meaning, he lifted the unhappy bantling in the air, and shook him with so much good will, that he had well-nigh silenced him most effectually. “It is such a very respectable boarding-house,” she said. Sheppard, meekly. Oh, I know. At that a new element poured into her excitement, an element of wild disgust and terror. Cursed him for his devotion that had made him come back for her, only to get himself shot by the fiendish Gosse.
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