Brown. Wood. “By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. Almost the last female to bear the name, too,’ muttered the old lady. And me, I know very much of soldiers. With people of that sort all sorts of things may happen. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. Something about the girl had suggested an idea. There’s something— something ADULT about you.
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