Hitherto she had seen it chiefly in pictures and other works of art, incidentally, and as a thing taken out of life. Accordingly, when she arrived at the Shovels, with which, as an old haunt in her bygone days of wretchedness she was well acquainted, instead of entering the principal apartment, which she saw at a glance was crowded with company of both sexes, she turned into a small room on the left of the bar, and, as an excuse for so doing, called for something to drink. His course, however, was no longer interrupted, and he crept on. She was a trained being—trained by an implacable mother to one end. Stay where you are, Mr.
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