I was sorry for what I did afterwards; for, I don't know why, but, poor, lady! with her pale face, and black eyes, she reminded me of my mother. "I don't think he would leave me, even if I could part with him," observed Mrs. ” “I say,” she reflected, “you ARE rather the master, you know. She rambles continually about Jack, and her husband, and that wretch Jonathan, to whom, as far as can be gathered from her wild ravings, she attributes all her misery. Gosse would have killed me, and perhaps in the fight I might kill him. Do not let her think worse of me than I deserve,—or even so ill. ’ ‘Like this?’ ‘Parfait.
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