But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Behind Mrs. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. ” John replied. No matter. I’m sorry. “Are you speaking to me?” she asked calmly. "I could not believe you capable of so foul a deed. "Sir!" exclaimed Winifred, rising. She gurgled.
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