Master and missis have been talking all day long about Jack Sheppard, and I'm dying to read his life. My destiny, I am afraid, is going to lead me into the ruts. " Winifred was going to say "No," but she checked herself; and, with cheeks mantling with blushes, murmured, "I wish you wouldn't tease me about Jack Sheppard. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. And, as usual,” she continued, a little bitterly, “I seem to have been sent along with the dullest and least edifying of Mrs.
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