” The man’s face was dark with passion. The woollen-draper was no despicable trencherman in a general way; but his feats with the knife and fork were child's sport compared with those of Mr. Sorry. Ann Veronica found herself incompetent, undignified, and detestable, holding on desperately to a hardening antagonism to her father, quarrelling with him, wrangling with him, thinking of repartees—almost as if he was a brother. "Let me see the earth thrown over her," implored Jack; "and take me where you please. ’ ‘Pottiswick, you mean, miss?’ ‘Yes, yes. ‘R-rien. still a kid!” He said. "I am very happy to be of service to you.
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