He kept that, but the rest. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. " "'Ouns!" ejaculated Terence, in alarm, "would you turn snitch on your old pal, Quilt?" "Ay, if he plays a-cross," returned Quilt. " And springing backwards, he darted suddenly through the door. “Your name and address were upon an envelope found in the pocket of an Englishman who was brought here late last night suffering from serious injuries,” he said in a dry official tone. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. He left the room, presumably to sleep elsewhere, but the only other room with a fire was the servant’s quarters.
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