Let us be gone. Gin is the poor man's friend,—his sole set-off against the rich man's luxury. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. He had almost forced himself upon her one night after a particularly bloody raid of a thatched cottage. His eyes caught at hers with passionate inquiries. But a far greater affliction was in store for her. She was dressed in one of those complicated dresses that are all lace and work and confused patternings of black and purple and cream about the body, and she was in many ways a younger feminine version of the same theme as himself. "Instantly, Hobson," returned Lady Trafford; "as soon as the carriage can be brought round. I’ll buzz him for you.
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