For this three weeks had been the hardest of her life. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. " "Except me, dear," insinuated Edgeworth Bess. It was a precious thing, a beautiful cabochon—do you know what that is?” “What’s a cabochon?” “It’s a precious jewel that doesn’t have facets yet. "And, now,—to Newgate. Now I’d like the rest of your story. Why had she married him, off-hand, like that? She did not love him, or he knew nothing of love signs.
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