“I do not understand. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. ” Ennison dropped the evening paper which he had been pretending to read. Russell burned like a beacon, but Capes illuminated by darting flashes and threw light, even if it was but momentary light, into a hundred corners that Russell left steadfastly in the shade. “I was sick of the make-believe. Hogarth," replied Gay. A little exclamation of surprise escaped Ennison. Then light footsteps became audible, descending the staircase with a certain deliberation and a faint rustle of skirts. I can esteem him, regard him; but, love him as he ought to be loved—that I cannot do. He was sipping a glass of cold gin and water, and smoking a short black pipe. .
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