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’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. Wood in the deepest mourning. Good-bye, for the pressent—ha! ha!" And, laughing loudly at his own facetiousness, he quitted the Lodge. " "Why, what'll you do?" demanded the turnkey. It was locked. He had meant to come at his business in a roundabout way, but for that little slip. ’ Gerald raised his brows. But that explains everything. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. ” “I can’t go back to the Beck’s ever again.
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