" "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. It is the health of a stranger,—of Mr. " Himself. One she entered and met with a sharp rebuff, which she appeared to receive unmoved. So far as I am concerned, I am just now a hopeless nonentity. It can wait a bit longer. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. “There’s twenty before you, and Mr. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. “I’ve got nothing in the world to pack with except a toy size portmanteau.
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