" "On my soul, Thames, you wrong me!" replied Jack, passionately. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. Earles himself stood upon the threshold of his sanctum, the prototype of the smart natty Jew, with black hair, waxed moustache, and a wired flower in his button-hole. He had chosen his time well. ‘I don’t propose doing anything with you. “I meant to say good-bye to you to-night. Immediately behind this individual, came a pale, poverty-stricken woman, whose forlorn aspect contrasted strongly with his plump and comfortable physiognomy. He glanced out of the window, looked back at the major and grasped the handle of the door. “It’s odd—I have no doubt in my mind that what we are doing is wrong,” he said. “There is something which I must say to you.
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