We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash. The fire—if there was any in him—never made headway against this insistant demand to know the significance of these manifold inward agitations. I wonder if you will mind very much when I tell you they were suggested by you. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. ‘Who me, sir? Lor’ no, sir. Her interest grew as she read, a certain distaste disappeared.
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