“Don’t be an ass, Ferringhall,” he said tersely. ” “And he sat at my table,” Annabel said bitterly, “and yet he did not know me. The picturesque scoundrel had the true gift; and Spurlock was filled with pity at the thought of such genius gone to pot. With his chisel so fine, tra la! "There!" cried the boy, leaping from the stool, and drawing back a few paces on the bench to examine his performance,—"that'll do. Edward Bribble stood between them with an open book. “I am not in need of any.
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