“I love your sister. " "Take a glass of gin, Ma'am," cried Poll Maggot, holding up a bottle of spirit; "it used to be your favourite liquor, I've heard. We have both tried hard to develop it—you and I —and we have failed. But then, because my papa had no money, you understand, he sent me to a convent. She could have dined alone in her room; but courage had demanded that she face the ordeal and have done with it. You care for me just a little, I know. ” The two women shook hands. What you say is probably all true and necessary.
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