Spurling, who did not dare to exhibit her satisfaction otherwise than by privately pinching the arm of her expected husband. " "And were I in yours," rejoined the woollen-draper, "I should be doubly apprehensive, because he's a professed friend. And I am grateful to you. You denied it, remembering that I had called myself Anna. She wished she had not stood up. There was once a philanthropist who dressed with shameful shabbiness and carried pearls in his pocket. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Once, when he thought he had done so, he smiled an ingratiating smile.
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