They got to go home and eat Campbell’s Chicken Soup. Please sit with me. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. “One would think I had said nothing about the matter. " "Are you a real nurse?" "Yes. ‘On the contrary,’ Gerald argued, frowning. “I don’t see what else I could have said,” he remarked.
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