She would be elemental; there would be in her somewhere the sleeping tigress. One point in her narrative stood out beyond all others. "I beg your pardon," he cried; "but really—ha! ha!—you must excuse me!—that is so uncommonly diverting—ha! ha! Do let me hear it again?—ha! ha! ha!" "Upon my word," rejoined Wood, "you seem vastly entertained by my misfortunes. She was not very clear about the position and duties of a chorus-girl, but it certainly had the air of being a last desperate resort. “When are you going away?” He asked.
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