Wood, in his Sunday habiliments and Sunday buckle. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said. As Gosse pushed her around it, she felt his hold about her of necessity loosen slightly. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. . If she had any idea at all, it was something she dimly recalled from her books: something celestially beautiful, with a happy ending. 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. Wood.
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