I HAD to. ’ ‘Me, miss?’ uttered Mrs Ibstock doubtfully. Ill-drawn, without method or sense of proportion, you have put wonderful things on to canvas, have drawn them out of yourself, notwithstanding your mechanical inefficiency. That is what my mother used to call me. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. Still, I am curious. “Would you mind calling that hansom for me?” He looked at it critically and shook his head. But I must—I ought—” “I MUST talk about this. " And he pointed significantly to the hand. ‘Come, cry a truce.
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