She breathed deeply. You must know, Sir, when he was a lad, the day after he broke into his master's house in Wych Street, he picked a gentleman's pocket in our church, during sarvice time,—that he did, the heathen. Opening her large black eyes, she fixed them upon him for a moment with a mixture of terror and loathing, and then averted her gaze. "The only disguise I ever put on is a dress-suit, and I look as natural as a pig at a Mahomedan dinner. Lucy entered and Mike followed. You forget all the mass of training and tradition and instinct that go to make him a tolerable master.
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