You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. “But, my dear!” said Ann Veronica’s aunt. “May I be allowed to say,” he declared, “that I came here with the same intention. ” “The truth,” she murmured, with her eyes fixed upon him. A week later the manuscript was polished and typewritten, ready for the test. He hugged her when he saw her in the hallway. Already she had sent him twenty pounds, and never written to explain to him why it was she had not sent it back sharply directly he returned it.
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