“You are of the genus obstinate,” he said. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. Throwing down the pencil, she snatched up a piece of India-rubber, and exclaiming,—"It isn't at all like him! it isn't half handsome enough!" was about to efface the sketch, when Thames darted into the room. Of course, if at any time—see reason—alter your opinion. Gerald stood quite still for a moment or two, listening intently. It was the very spot from which his poor mother had gazed after her vain attempt to rescue him at the Mint; but, though he was ignorant of this, her image was alone present to him. Both carried packages of books and magazines. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust.
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