“I’ll try to stop by. "I owe you nothing," he repeated, dully. “The Beck family has the cooking gene. I just thought perhaps a different boy was in store for you. "I can't say I do," replied Wood. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
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