She almost submitted to this ending of her adventure. “That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. Abruptly would come the end. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Now, for the cage, my pretty canary-bird. Then she called a hansom and drove home. "Here's a door," remarked Ireton, when he got to that nearest the leads, "which I could have sworn would have resisted anything.
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