You do not make me afraid like this. For a few minutes he kept them at bay. There's a friend of Sir James—a young man, an engraver of masquerade tickets and caricatures,—his name I believe is Hogarth. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. “What you have said is a ridiculous falsehood,” she declared scornfully. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Ennison was deeply interested. What in the world was the wench up to now? For it must be she. “You might have given me a chance, anyway. “Absolutely platonically,” she said. ‘You have every right to be angry with me. No tricks would serve.
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