"'Odd's-my-life!—what's that?" he cried, greatly alarmed. "Suppose we go and have tea? I'd like to take you to a teahouse I know, but we'll go to the Victoria instead. I've tried the plan, and found it answer. Wished to see you. Valade, who was standing by her chair, glancing around the packed pink-papered saloon with a heavy frown on his face, was a thickset man of coarse, reddened feature, with a discontented air. "Weep on, reprobate," cried the carpenter, a little softened. She sat in deep thought for a moment or two, and then nodding briskly, dipped the pen in the ink again and began to write.
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