There is something that inspires a feeling of inexpressible melancholy in sailing on a dark night upon the Thames. " "Pshaw!" cried Thames. ” The topic of his invalid wife bored him, and he turned at once to Ann Veronica. I’m in a mess—a nasty mess! a filthy mess! Oh, no end of a mess! “Do you hear, Ann Veronica?—you’re in a nasty, filthy, unforgivable mess! “Haven’t I just made a silly mess of things? “Forty pounds! I haven’t got twenty!” She got up, stamped with her foot, and then, suddenly remembering the lodger below, sat down and wrenched off her boots. ” “Are you afraid?” “Only for you! Most of my income will vanish. ‘Ha! Just the person I want. Langley, I appeal to you. .
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