She softened her tone and scrambled for the right words. “Oh, my dear!” she cried, and suddenly flung herself, kneeling, into her husband’s arms. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. Said Prudence, with commendable human kindness: "My sister and I are going on to Shanghai and Peking. She was glad when he went on: “I want to be your city of refuge from every sort of bother. It was bad luck to go to Canongate. "You have said," pursued the widow, "that she, who has once erred, is irreclaimable. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. That is so like you, Diana—Pallas Athene! (Pallas Athene is better. ’ Rather to his surprise, she obeyed this injunction as he led her up two flights of stairs to the first floor.
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