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Anna was married. Tender with the sick, firm with the strong, fearless, with a body that had the resistance of iron, there was nothing of the hypocrite in him. " "It is not Jack's voice," rejoined Mrs. Manning regarded her thoughtfully for a moment and stroked his mustache. "You are no longer Thames Darrell," she said, casting her eyes rapidly over it; "but the Marquis de Chatillon. Hogarth, didn't I see you last night at the ridotto with Lady Thornhill and her pretty daughter?" "Me!—no, Sir," stammered Hogarth, colouring. ‘Ha! Just the person I want.
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