" "What kind?" "Dickens, Hugo. And you think I would marry you?’ ‘Why not? I am unworthy, eh? Because I am a servant. There has never been a white woman at McClintock's. " "Offer them my hearty thanks," replied Jack, waving his hand to the group, all of whom returned the salutation. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. Anna crossed the street, and letting herself in at No. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off.
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