“An uncle in New York is dead, and has left him loads of money. He stood before her. Hearing the approach of the rider, Mr. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. "Let me look at the paper. He has a way of sitting on people. “Poor old Alice!” Her brother Roddy came to her and demanded tea, and asked her to state a case. The steps, even the pavements, were invaded by little knots of loungers driven outside by the unusual heat of the evening, most of them in evening dress, or what passed for evening dress in Montague Street. “Certainly. ’ ‘Of Leonardo? Yes, I will tell you.
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