" "Perhaps, I wasn't," returned Thames, gloomily, as the remembrance of Jonathan Wild's foul insinuation crossed him. That he had resolved upon its execution, whatever it might be, was evident from his saying aloud,— "I will do it. ” “Not in the least,” she assured him. Manning told her he loved beauty, and extorted a similar admission from her; he then expatiated upon his own love of beauty. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. He glanced at the ruins of his High Priestess. It was comforting to have her there, snoring gently.
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