" Mr. Anna left the room on tiptoe. He came over to me. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. Wood, however, made known his presence to the individual by laying his hand upon his shoulder. Yes, yes, there is no doubt about it. "But if it is your mother, send her about her business. ’ ‘I think you understand me very well. She lunched at a creamery in Great Portland Street, and as the day was full of wintry sunshine, spent the rest of the lunch-hour in a drowsy gloom, which she imagined to be thought upon the problems of her position, on a seat in Regent’s Park. This way, Sir Rowland. U. There was a pause, and then the front door slammed.
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