” “Any one could see that the girls were ladies,” Ennison murmured. Neither did his interest,—which was by no means inconsiderable,—nor his general popularity, procure him the preferment he desired. A crutch, with a silver handle, stood by her side, proving the state of extreme debility to which she was reduced. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. So this was what it was all about. "My wife and daughter, Sir," said the carpenter, introducing them to his guest. "But she is a dear," said Angelina, timidly. She was aware of him—a silk-hatted, shiny-black figure on the opposite side of the Avenue; and then, abruptly and startlingly, he crossed the road and saluted and spoke to her.
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