On that night,—that fatal night,—Winifred crushed all the hopes that were rising in my heart. I do not wish for you to see me feed. “I have made no progress with my work,” she said slowly, “and the money was gone. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. The commissionaire smiled. I shall count it a privilege. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes.
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