What of that?" "Vot 'o that!" echoed Sharples, peevishly: "Everythin'. "You've been quizzing my friend Kent, I perceive, in your Burlington Gate. Wood, furiously. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. ” She pointed to the envelope still resting upon the mantelpiece. She was dressed in a simple evening gown of soft creamy silk, with a yoke of dark old embroidery that enhanced the gentle gravity of her style, and her black hair flowed off her open forehead to pass under the control of a simple ribbon of silver. He remembered little whispered speeches of hers, so like the Annabel of Paris, so unlike the woman he loved, a hundred little things should have told him long ago. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here.
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