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Mrs. If she was in a position to help him she would help him; only it happened to be the other way round. CHAPTER I. We'll have some fun down there at my place, Spurlock; but we'll probably bore your wife to death. By the by, my dear, I forgot to ask your name—perhaps you'll oblige me with it now? Hell and the devil!—gone!" He looked around in vain. When he comes he will do that raid of the pantechnicons the justice it deserves; he will picture the orderly evening scene about the Imperial Legislature in convincing detail, the coming and going of cabs and motor-cabs and broughams through the chill, damp evening into New Palace Yard, the reinforced but untroubled and unsuspecting police about the entries of those great buildings whose square and panelled Victorian Gothic streams up from the glare of the lamps into the murkiness of the night; Big Ben shining overhead, an unassailable beacon, and the incidental traffic of Westminster, cabs, carts, and glowing omnibuses going to and from the bridge. The picture in her mind altered and she saw again the way Gerald had looked with consternation upon the bruises he had inflicted on her wrist. “Let me know the truth. Guiltily, she felt very little for him, and yet she wondered what he would be like. That added to his puzzle. “I can’t believe it. "Come to my arms, Thames! Oh! dear! Oh! dear!" To repeat the questions and congratulations which now ensued, or describe the extravagant joy of the carpenter, who, after he had hugged his adopted son to his breast with such warmth as almost to squeeze the breath from his body, capered around the room, threw his wig into the empty fire-grate, and committed various other fantastic actions, in order to get rid of his superfluous satisfaction—to describe the scarcely less extravagant raptures of his spouse, or the more subdued, but not less heartfelt delight of Winifred, would be a needless task, as it must occur to every one's imagination.
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