Stanley lost patience. She was not a reversion to type, which intimates the primordial; she suggested rather the incarnation of some goddess of the South Seas. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Are you quite shure you haven't another alyas, Masther Thames Ditton?" "Darrell, I tell you. But the five per cent.
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