The hansom drove off. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. "Too late, master," replied the landlord of the Trumpeter, in a surly tone, for he did not much like the appearance of his customer; "just shut up shop. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Give me your staff. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. I mean—I mean to do what I can.
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