“YOU wouldn’t like to be independent?” he asked, abruptly. There was, it might be said, a double illumination. This discovery made, I hastened back to London to offer you my hand, but found you had married in the mean time a smock-faced, smooth-tongued carpenter named Sheppard. "I told you that before," rejoined Wood, testily. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. ” “We’ve come past it, miss,” the man answered, with a note of finality in his gruff voice. He found, however, that now the time had come he utterly lacked the courage to attempt any such speech. We’ll have some buttered toast. Nature is God, Anna, and the greatest artist of us all a pigmy.
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