Then, I believe, I come to London; and we shall meet once more: and I shall thank you, thank you, thank you, once more, for all your marvellous kindness." "Humph!" said Tom, after a while.

"Well, she is old enough to choose for herself.

Five-and-twenty she must be by now....

As for the stage, I suppose it is the best place for her; better, at least, than turning governess, and going mad, as she would do, over her drudgery and her dreams.

But who is this friend?
Singing-master, scribbler, or political refugee?
or perhaps all three together?
A dark lot, those fellows.