He opened it—just off-hand, and then when he saw what it was he hit at the table and sent his soup spoon flying and splashing on to the tablecloth. All the rest of his existence was subordinate to this pursuit; he lived for it, worked for it, kept himself in training for it. "Where's Thames?" he hastily inquired. McClintock, coming from below, saw them and went forward. Ain't he, Madam?'" "He is, indeed," replied the widow, fervently; "more—much more than that. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. ” “But why——” Sir John stopped short.
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