Jack had well-nigh fallen too. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. But he knew. ” “How long had he been in the hospital?” Courtlaw asked. Perhaps marriage hurt. “I will not trouble you with any questions about the other occupants of the flats,” Mr. Whence she came,—who she was,—and what she wanted,—were questions which naturally suggested themselves to Blueskin, and he was about to seek for some explanation, when his curiosity was checked by a gesture of silence from the lady. There was no way to warn her of his presence without startling her. He held her hand in his, cupped together like a pair of shells for the rest of the hour. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. .
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