“Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. ” “What case?” “A divorce—or something—I don’t know. " "There is a great art in it, if you did," quoth he. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. "And so you'll turn highwayman, will you, you young dog?" continued the carpenter, cuffing him soundly,—"rob the mails, like Jack Hall, I suppose. “I heard your voices, and the hall is draughty.
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