The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. “Gods,” she said, at last, “I’ve done it this time!” “Well!” She took up the neat morocco purse, opened it, and examined the contents. Through an open door was a glimpse of the bathroom—a vision of luxury, out of which Annabel herself, in a wonderful dressing-gown and followed by a maid presently appeared. That person advanced towards him. The passion of pent-up speech compelled action of some sort. “Wild horses—not if they have all the mounted police in London—shan’t keep me out. They fight over money all of the time. Do you remember what I said when you took me at the Mint four days ago? I told you my turn would come. ” He said. A grimy, battered object, which had no place in the fashionable quarter of town. I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use.
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