She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. Her little bedsitting-room was like a lair, and she went out from it into this vast, dun world, with its smoke-gray houses, its glaring streets of shops, its dark streets of homes, its orange-lit windows, under skies of dull copper or muddy gray or black, much as an animal goes out to seek food. He only laughed his defiance. ’ ‘You’re going to break into the house? You’re mad. Once before—but that had been different. The worthy carpenter was restored to instant good humour by a glance from his helpmate; and, notwithstanding the infliction he had just endured, he would have quarrelled with any one who had endeavoured to persuade him that he was not the happiest of men, and Mrs. “Shut up, you little faggot. Good-bye. Wood, who was standing at the edge of a raised platform, anxiously waving his hand to him. Gay, the poet, who wrote the 'Captives,' which was lately acted at Drury Lane, and was so much admired by the Princess of Wales. “Is Miss Stanley coming up with us?” “I go second,” she said, “and change at Wimbledon.
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