One’s sense of proportion, battered out of all shape in the daily life of cities, reasserts itself. "I see him!—row for your life!" "That's the way to miss him, master," replied Ben coolly. I was to blame to carry the matter so far. ‘I said you were sympathique,’ she told him. But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. At last some anodyne formed itself from these exercises, and, with eyelashes wet with such feeble tears as only three-o’clock-in-the-morning pathos can distil, she fell asleep.
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