"Tom," continued Kneebone, calling to the shop-boy, "don't go home. " "Professional?" "Why do you wish to know?" "Professional nurses wear a sort of uniform. ’ ‘No, but you’ve made up for it since. Not wisely but too well. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. Nevertheless she withdrew her hand. Kneebone,—pray go!" implored Winifred. ’ His colour deepened. He hesitated for a moment and then he followed her. Then instinct took over.
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