The Well Hole 336 XIII. They drove up into Paris in an open fiacre with a soft cool wind blowing in their faces, hand in hand beneath the rug. "Gracious Heaven!—is she the inmate of a mad-house?" "She is, Sir," answered the woollen-draper, sadly, "driven there by her son's misconduct. It's so stuffy—and all that tobacco smoke!" He inspected his watch. They trudged and talked, and Manning struggled, as he said, to “get the hang of it all. “This has all the clean freshness of spring and youth,” said Capes; “it is love with the down on; it is like the glitter of dew in the sunlight to be lovers such as we are, with no more than one warm kiss between us. He removed his cockaded hat, putting it down between them as he sat at the other end, placing himself at an angle and, crossing his legs, leaned back at his ease, his eyes fixed on her face. . on.
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