If not, I have plenty to think about,” she answered, leaning back in her chair, and watching the smoke from her own cigarette curl upwards. Mr. " "Never fear," replied the lady. “Where were you?” He inquired, rubbing her shoulders. "I should like to know where Mr. He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. Figg?" asked Gay. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion.
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