. "Choose, Jack. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. But—but how?’ ‘Can you write?’ Gerald asked, digging into one of his capacious pockets and bringing out a leather ring purse. He reached the top floor and ran down the corridor to the little dressing room at the end where he had lost her before. It was the first—and the last! At this juncture, the handle of the door was tried, and the voice of Mr. ‘Where the devil have you been?’ ‘Consorting with a nun in the gardens. Wood, Sir," he added, with much emotion, "is one of the best of men, and would be the happiest, were it not that—" and he hesitated. One cannot successfully argue with a drunken man. "What for?" demanded Wood. ‘I think you know my affianced husband.
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