" "I will—I will," replied Wood hastily. ‘Monsieur, my wife intended not to anger you,’ he said in a tone of apology. He was asleep. Taking his way along East Smithfield, mounting Little Tower-hill, and threading the Minories and Hounsditch, he arrived without accident or molestation, at Moorfields. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. “My friend,” she said, “I have been your pupil for two years.
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