"Thank Heaven!" she gasped. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. “What did it matter?” she cried. "Quite sorry, my good friend, there should have been any misunderstanding between us," observed the woollen-draper. He must never refuse her anything which was within his power to grant—anything (he modified) which did not lead to his motives. "A bad business this, Van," observed Baptist, with a prolonged shake of the head. She had something of the feeling a Hindoo must experience who has been into surroundings or touched something that offends his caste. "I'm at your mercy, Poll," rejoined Kneebone, abjectly. “You were booked of course. 1. ” “Well?” “Lunch! I am hungry—tragically hungry. Excited by the scene, Jack, however, could pay little attention to the good man's discourse, and was lost in a whirl of tumultuous emotions.
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