“Idiot!” She raged inwardly while she walked along with that air of self-contained serenity that is proper to a young lady of nearly two-and-twenty under the eye of the world. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. You are my Sir Galahad, so faithful and true that it is a wonder you exist. If you were a poet in need of rhymes, you had only to turn to a certain page. Wood!" exclaimed Jack, in surprise. “I can talk to you and you to me without a scrap of effort,” said Capes; “that’s the essence of it.
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