"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. Tell me how you are earning your living here, Anna—typewriting, or painting, or lady’s companion?” “I think,” Anna said, “that the less you know about me the better. "Well, Jack," said the prize-fighter, in a rough, but friendly voice, and with a cutand-thrust abrupt manner peculiar to himself; "how are you, lad, eh? Sorry to see you here. “By Jove!” he said, “there is something direct about you. Her thoughts took words for themselves. ‘Martha was my wet-nurse? But she is unmarried. “In private.
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