She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. “Yes. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was. But you couldn't. For a moment O'Higgins had hoped that the ink applications would be recent. Poor fellow! he sometimes indulges the hope of marrying you, when he grows old enough. ‘Your wife?’ ‘My wife,’ he repeated, rising also, his smile mocking her. "Do you know what you are talking about, Mrs. Too bad he’s not interested in any girl who’s not a musician. I want to hammer myself against all this that pens women in. “This is all madness,” she declared wearily.
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