It was his redemption, his ticket out of hell—that blue-serge coat. ‘You see, it is that my papa, he is without sympathy,’ said the lady sadly. You keep on coming truer, after you have seemed to come altogether true. Wood wound it up by a description of the drenching he had undergone at the Mint pump, the other could hold out no longer, but, leaning back in his chair, gave free scope to his merriment. But, in spite of his general insensibility to such matters, Quilt could not help commenting upon the delicious perfume wafted from the numerous flower-beds past which they were driving.
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