She got home every night in time to cook supper and it was good money. "Oh, nothing—nothing," returned Mrs. " "Thank God for that!" cried Wood, heartily. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. The life of a girl presented itself to her as something happy and heedless and unthinking, yet really guided and controlled by others, and going on amidst unsuspected screens and concealments. She crawled underneath the soft white sheets, reclining and pulling the blankets up to her chin.
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