Wood," said the lady bridling up, "my request may, perhaps, have some weight with you. " "Wood!" exclaimed Trenchard,—"of Wych Street?" "The same. ” He said. He whispered in her ear. But he seized the chance to entrap her fingers, fan and all, and look deeply into her eyes. It may not be just, it may not be fair, but things are so. Wood was so much exhausted that he was obliged to retire to his own room, where he continued for some hours overpowered by grief. Capes became rigid and adhesive. “I mean to go to that dance!” she blubbered. ” She said through a closed mouth.
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