"What!" she exclaimed, almost choked with passion,—"I advised you to burthen yourself with that idle and good-for-nothing pauper, who'm you ought rather to send to the workhouse than maintain at your own expense, did I! I advised you to take him as an apprentice; and, so far from getting the regular fee with him, to give him a salary? I advised you to feed him, and clothe him, and treat him like his betters; to put up with his insolence, and wink at his faults? I counselled all this, I suppose. “I hope you realize,” he went on, in a lower and less assured tone, “that I am in earnest—very much in earnest. It was time to disappear, no more Becks, no more Spaghetti Nights, no more afternoon kisses in the park with John Diedermayer. Am I mistaken? Is your heart mine?" "It is—it is; and has ever been," replied Winifred, falling upon his neck. “You certainly are. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. Mischief bubbled up in her. "Teach you to keep your distance!" retorted Mrs. A ragged gray moustache drooped from the corners of his mouth and a ragged wisp of whisker hung from his chin. Perhaps it was just as well there was no inherited memory. She met his older brother and played another short violin recital, much to the delight of 178 John’s immediate family.
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