. . To be sure, he was attentive, respectful; but in his conduct there was none of that shameless camaraderie of a man who loved his woman and didn't care a hang if all the world knew it. "Is this Misther Wudd's, my pretty miss?" demanded the rough voice of the Irish watchman. "Souls," she answered, drily. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. He displayed a quite unprofessional vein of mysticism in the matter. The boy was bright and inquisitive as he was subtle. " "Prolonging the misery. " "Impossible!" rejoined his mother. . " "At any rate, I won, for he went away.
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