He was not addicted to monologue, and the only audible comment he permitted himself at first upon a universe that was evidently anything but satisfactory to him that afternoon, was one compact and entirely unassigned “Damn!” The word must have had some gratifying quality, because he repeated it. How she had coveted her mother’s beauty and sought to emulate it, if only to please her. " "Well, it's mighty fine of you to break your journey in this fashion—for someone you don't know, a passer-by. Wood's ear, whispered, "secret agents from France—you understand—friends to the cause—hem!" "I see,—persons of rank!" Mr. Wood's favourite sitting-room, and her image was so intimately associated with it, neither the carpenter nor his daughter could muster courage to enter it before. ” She paused, and he waited for her to speak. For a time they were very difficult. .
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