"I'll tell you," replied Jack, with forced calmness. Mrs. . "Thank you, Mrs. " "Loved me! You!" "I loved you," continued Jonathan, "and struck by your appearance, which seemed above your station, inquired your history, and found you had been stolen by a gipsy in Lancashire. Some of the delicate colour which the afternoon walk had brought into her cheeks had already returned. “Really, Sir John,” she said, “I don’t know how to thank you. The soil was identical, the climate; still, they would not bear the Olympian fruit, with its purple-lined jacket and its snow-white pulp.
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