With a view to raise recruits for his corps, the warlike woollen-draper started for Lancashire, under the colour of a journey on business. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. He tired of his popcorn and placed it under his seat. She moved her elbow nearer to him and spoke in a still lower tone. "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. The odour of kerosene permeated the bungalow; but Ruth mitigated the nuisance to some extent by burning native punk in brass jars. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. After all, the Wastrel was in luck: he was alone. I tell you what, Thames," he added, flinging himself carelessly into a chair, "I'd give my right hand,—and that's no light offer for a carpenter's 'prentice,—if that little minx were half as fond of me as she is of you. Soup would help you feel better, soup and hot tea. “Certainly I was a little way off at the café, and she had a hat and veil on, but I could have sworn that it was ‘Alcide. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. You would steal from me then the only man I ever cared a snap of the fingers about.
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