‘Dead then, is he?’ ‘If I could say that he is dead, it would give me very much satisfaction. "And there you're right, you may dipind, marm," observed Terence. ” Her father interrupted. “His dress for no man lays a snare; A man scores always, everywhere. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl. ‘You see,’ he pursued blandly, ‘I lead a life of the most intolerable boredom.
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