" As he spoke, the door of the round-house was opened, and a stout man, with a lantern in his hand, presented himself at the threshold. " The answer to this request was a "smack" of a very different description, bestowed upon Sheppard's outstretched face by the little damsel, as she ran out of the room. For a time they walked in silence. The room was worse than pokey, it was shabby; and the view from the window, of chimney pots and slate roofs, wholly uninspiring. My name is Ferringhall—Sir John Ferringhall. It is not a dissipated face. But all this business has driven it clean out of my head. She dumped him because she claimed she didn’t want him to go any farther.
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