\"Can I get your ticket?\" He asked her as she approached the vendor. “Where is my beautiful wife?” He bellowed from the downstairs. “Is that you, Nigel?” she asked. “One can’t tell. ” With a murmured word of excuse she glided away, and Courtlaw, who had come with a mission which seemed to him to be one of life or death, was left to listen to the latest art jargon from Chelsea. This done, Edgeworth Bess, who watched her opportunity, slipped out of the Lodge. He would never be able to compose upon it, but it would serve to produce the finished work. Good-bye aunt. “I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present. I should lose every scrap of independence—even my self-respect. At last she was roused.
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