" "I see through your design, Jack," returned the carpenter, gravely; "but I don't like under-hand work. My dear—I can call you that here, anyhow—I know that. "Who isn't it like?" he asked, endeavouring to gain possession of the drawing, which, af the sound of his footstep, she crushed between her fingers. Its dreariness, like the filthiness of the police cell, was a discovery for her. “I’m going for a long tramp, auntie,” she said. We are alone and we can say and do what we please. But he did not follow on with the thought.
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