. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. When he faced Spurlock, the granite was cracked and rived; never had Spurlock seen such dumb agony in human eyes. A bowl of roses, just brought by Ann Veronica, adorned the communal dressing-table, and Ann Veronica was particularly trim in preparation for a call she was to make with her aunt later in the afternoon. One more passer-by; and always would she remember his patience and tenderness and disinterestedness. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea.
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