No sooner had they entered the room than Sharples, who waited to usher them in, hastily retreated, closed the door, and turning the key, laughed loudly at the success of his stratagem. I had gone further than I meant to—with some Englishmen. “You say you want a vote,” said Mr. “I shall never be able to thank you. ” “But how?” “I poured him out some port wine, and I said—let me see—oh, ‘You are going to be a grandfather!’” “Yes. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. In one grave, mind. I shall charge you five per cent. Me—I’m nothing but a country wench, and one who went to the bad.
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