” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. Jolly hard life for a girl, getting a living. “Nor am I now,” he answered. But I've an idea as well as you, grounded in some measure upon Sheppard's story. Wood heard the cry. Give me but leave to try. Idleness is the key of beggary, Jack. . My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. "Good-b'ye!" And with a cordial shake of the hand he took his departure. .
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