" "It is a diamond," said the lady, in an agony of distress,—"the child!" "A diamond! Here, take the kid," cried Blueskin, slipping the infant adroitly under her scarf. The spikes almost touched the upper part of the hatch: scarcely space enough for the passage of a hand being left between their points and the beam. It was just as easy to pretend she was watching one when she was actually watching the other. She realized dimly that there was no personal thing behind his cry, that countless myriads of Mannings had “My God!”-ed with an equal gusto at situations as flatly apprehended. We middle-aged fools and we old fools can no longer dream.
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