"Well, gentlemen," rejoined Wood, mildly; "since Mr. ” “I suppose all men,” said Ann Veronica, in a tone of detached criticism, “get some such entanglement. Paris, always beautiful even in the darkness, glittered away to the horizon. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. She was correct, and when I went directly to the street she had named, there you were, walking into the Butcher Shop. “I was glad you did not send it back again,” he said.
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