Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. His eyes were small and grey; as far apart and as sly-looking as those of a fox. You don’t happen to know of any one, I suppose, who wants a nursery governess, or a clerk—without shorthand—or a tryer-on, or a copyist, or——” “For Heaven’s sake stop, Miss Pellissier,” he interrupted. Bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. If the young ladies were dowerless, which seemed likely, their attire at least—so Lucilla assured him in a whisper—was of the first stare. “I think—we all think that she is wonderful. She stood up before him, smiling faintly.
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