“That sounds so uncouth,” she murmured. His invalid wife and her money had been only the thin thread that held his life together; beaded on that permanent relation had been an inter-weaving series of other feminine experiences, disturbing, absorbing, interesting, memorable affairs. A sudden knock at the door startled her. Rushing towards the entrance of the well-hole, Blueskin touched the secret spring. He was standing by, rating her ladyship,—who can scarcely stir from the sofa,—while I was packing up her jewels in the case, and I observed that she tried to hide a small casket from him. "You know what I mean," said the trader, gravely. He bent to her hand, and she slipped off the ring and gave it to him to examine.
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