"Perhaps," replied Wood, doubtfully. One has to be so careful. She's the boss. His shirt was unfastened, his vest unbuttoned, his hose ungartered; his feet were stuck into a pair of pantoufles, his arms into a greasy flannel dressing-gown, his head into a thrum-cap, the cap into a tie-periwig, and the wig into a gold-edged hat. I tell you I’m Meysey Hill, the railway man. The gentlemen are so particular now, and a good thing too, I say. It fits your style. But from the first her rather old-fashioned conception of life had jarred with the suburban atmosphere, the High School spirit and the memories of the light and little Mrs.
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