“I am sure you will marry Nigel sooner or later, and then all your work will be thrown away. Impressed with this idea, he paused for a moment to listen. Are we to see him here?" "Yes, my love. He misstated her age and address; but you can’t get home on him for a thing like that. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation.
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