"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. Wood, who maintained stoutly, that if Thames had been led to do wrong, it must be through the instrumentality of his worthless companion. " "Caught you napping, eh?" rejoined Ireton, with a laugh. ‘Is that why you allowed me in, ma’am?’ A dimple appeared in the faded cheek. She opened the door to him herself. He—he has rather a poor opinion of his contemporaries. I will ring if I want you. Forthwith he presented his card. ‘I don’t know what the devil you’re talking about. He was perhaps forty-five years of age.
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