The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. Spurling, for so was she named, had a warm nut-brown complexion, almost as dark as a Creole; and a moustache on her upper lip, that would have done no discredit to the oldest dragoon in the King's service. "But be it as it may, he is now beyond the reach of earthly punishment. Eight per cent. —What do you know of Thames?— Where is he?" "Don't agitate yourself, dearest girl," rejoined the woollen-draper; "or I shall never be able to commence my relation. Drummond, who had been about to speak, refrained. "You soon shall," rejoined Sheppard. Much to her annoyance, therefore, Winifred was left alone with the woollendraper, who following up a maxim of his own, "that nothing was gained by too much bashfulness," determined to profit by the opportunity.
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