Fortunately, ever since Wild's late murderous attack, the household has all been well armed. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. Chapter XXII AN OLD FOOL Lady Ferringhall made room for him on the sofa by her side. "Poor Jack!" cried Winifred, burying her face in her lover's bosom. Wasn’t it—a little bit of a scene?” “Oh! let me see. “Won’t you give me your address?” She shook her head. .
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