He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. What they do with him afterward is off my ticket, no concern of James Boyle; they can lock him up or let him go. I do not intend to be married, or to become engaged just at present. “Does he never speak to you of—of old times?” she faltered. Capes bore a face of infinite perplexity.
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