He paid the cab, and turned to follow her. "If you'll write them, I'll illustrate them," observed Hogarth. “And I have dragged you all over here for nothing,” she murmured. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. And in these crowded four weeks, what had she learned? That all horizons were lies: that smiles and handshakes and goodbyes and welcomes were lies: that there were really no to-morrows, only a treadmill of to-days: and that out of these lies and mirages she had plucked a bitter truth—she was alone. There must be ways of getting rid of him. But it was extraordinary what seemingly irrelevant things could restore her to the thought of Capes again. She hated being angry, the uselessness of it all, the frustration. "My son! my dear, dear son!" returned Mrs.
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