You must be misinformed, Mr. "Who is it, Bess?" "How should I know?" replied Edgeworth Bess. ‘That little kiss cost him his sanctuary, my girl, and don’t you forget it. Strongly impregnated with the mingled odours of tobacco, ale, brandy, and other liquors, the atmosphere was almost stifling. ‘You are rude, and stupide, and altogether a person with whom I do not wish to speak. The significance of the kiss was still obscure to her, though she had frequently encountered the word and act in the Old and New Testaments and latterly in novels. He was carelessly dressed, and there were marks of unrest upon his features. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him.
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