"Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. E. She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. Part of his head was swathed in linen bandages. He could talk to her as frankly as he could to a man, that she would not take offence at anything so long as it was in the form of explanation. ' But I don't value that, because I think it applies to one who marries a widow with encumbrances; and that's not my case, you know. She wondered wildly why she had stood up. “It was unpleasant while it lasted, but it is over —and my toasted scones are delicious. The concourse extended along Giltspur Street as far as Smithfield.
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