" "And, what good would that do?" replied Ireton, sarcastically. And yet—such is the buoyancy of youth—within a fortnight he began his first novel, pretending to himself that it was on Ruth's account. His natal burr was always in evidence when he was sentimentally affected. “What were you doing outside Miss Pellissier’s flat to-night? You were looking at her windows. Some of your sex, I mean. "I've made no distinction between you, hitherto," answered Wood; "nor shall I do so, unless I'm compelled. "Goodness only knows what he's reserved for," rejoined the widow in a desponding tone; "but if Mynheer Van Galgebrok, whom I met last night at the Cross Shovels, spoke the truth, little Jack will never die in his bed. Not even, it seemed, this interfering monsieur le major.
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