" "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. “My dear man,” she exclaimed, “wasn’t that a foregone conclusion?” “You treat the matter lightly,” he continued. The latter no sooner beheld him than he dashed hastily into an adjoining room. I am sorry, but you have spoilt me. He was always forgetting that his tummy was fifty-four years old. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. Now then. ’ ‘Must we talk of it? I’m trying to forget it. ’ Then she ran swiftly out of the library, calling out as her cavalier was almost at the front door.
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