This was not exactly what the woollen-draper desired. But you, Ferringhall, our pattern, an erstwhile Sheriff of London, a county magistrate, a prospective politician, a sober and an upright man, one who, had he aspired to it, might even have filled the glorious position of Lord Mayor— James, a whisky and Apollinaris at once. Why, that boy could hide for thirty years—without the girl. The inherent conscience keeps most of us away from jail, from court, from the gallows; the acquired conscience helps us to preserve the little amenities of daily life. When I carried you up here like a bride, that is the way I wanted us to be, Mary Lucia. You only mean a secret for a little time?” “Just for a little time,” she said; “yes.
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