He took her hand and looked into her eyes and spoke, divided against himself, in a voice that was forced and insincere. Her motherly features creased into anxious wrinkles. " "I see through your design, Jack," returned the carpenter, gravely; "but I don't like under-hand work. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. " "Never," echoed Smith, emphatically, "upon my honour. And I passed myself off as Meysey Hill, and since—then—I haven’t had a minute’s peace. "Take courage, man; it is only Quilt Arnold. Nor, indeed, did she want to refuse. .
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