Saint Giles's Round-house XIII. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. “It was poison—why not?” she answered. ‘She wormed it out of me, the little fiend. She's fine. A home MAY be a sort of cage, but still—it’s a home. Personally, however, I doubt if—’ ‘Charvill?’ interrupted Gerald without ceremony, all his senses at once on the alert. ‘What mischief?’ ‘I don’t know, but I’ll go bail you’re at something. That, Sir, is what I call being a Good Samaritan. “I mean to,” she replied.
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