The occasion is worth a dash of the grape, lad. Sydney Courtlaw—Mr. He suspected a trap. He could remember when women laid away their gowns in lavender—as this girl's mother had. The young lady in the bureau said she would inquire, and Ann Veronica, while she affected to read the appeal on a hospital collecting-box upon the bureau counter, had a disagreeable sense of being surveyed from behind by a small, whiskered gentleman in a frock-coat, who came out of the inner office and into the hall among a number of equally observant green porters to look at her and her bags. “Anna!” he exclaimed hoarsely.
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