Every now and then something familiar in her tone, the poise of her head, the play of her eyes startled him. How can he help you?” She threw such a look upon him that even he, Sir John Ferringhall, carpetmerchant, hide-bound Englishman, slow-witted, pompous, deliberate, felt his heart beat to music. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. There is worse to come. I’ve accustomed myself to think of you— as if you were like every other girl who works at the schools—as something quite outside these possibilities. Do sit down, dear boy. What ho! lights! lights!" And, shouting as he went, he flung himself down stairs. ” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. . ” “I thought you would find that out. Wood," she continued, with a sudden change of tone, and convulsively clutching the carpenter's arm, "promise it me. ” “Don’t tempt me,” she said, laughing, and drawing her opera-cloak together. He answered with the greatest assurance, that he knew nothing whatever of the matter—had seen no pocket-book, and no associate to give up.
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