I met a Hindu a few weeks ago who was a Harvard man. The features were indistinct, but was that not a halo of white about it? And the dark shadow below, was that a cloak, or the habit of a nun? Skirting the dancing, from which he had taken a breather—not from lack of energy, but to escape the inanities of the young ladies he had partnered—Gerald made his way to a side door in the saloon and opened it. But the lady was not so easily won; and though she did not absolutely reject him, gave him very slight hopes. 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 daresay you have the whole thing wrong, Gerald. Except for the dull eyes and the extreme pallor of his face, there was nothing else to indicate that he was deep in liquor. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her.
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