"Confusion!" cried he; "there is another boat in our wake. 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. Too much, perhaps. As she drew off her skirt she felt something in the pocket, and remembered the letter which the commissionaire at the Carlton had given her. Across that world was written in letters of light, “Endowment of Motherhood. 1. I don’t mean I’m not a good woman—I mean that I’m not a GOOD woman. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street.
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