“I can tell you are thinking about it. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. And yet, often when alone, he wondered: had McClintock been wrong, or had she ceased to care in that way? The possibility that she no longer cared should have filled him with unalloyed happiness, whereas it depressed him, cut the natural vanity of youth into shreds and tatters. "You are an angel," she cried, with a look beaming with delight. It was now getting dusk, and he could only imperfectly distinguish the features and figure of the stranger. I know London better than you, and I have had to earn my own living. " "Oh! he told you that, did he?" said Blueskin, marching up to her, and chucking her under the chin.
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