Anna turned deliberately away from the bedside. Bulging out more in the middle than at the two extremities, it resembled an enormous cask set on its end, —a sort of Heidelberg tun on a large scale,—and this resemblance was increased by the small circular aperture—it hardly deserved to be called a door—pierced, like the bung-hole of a barrell, through the side of the structure, at some distance from the ground, and approached by a flight of wooden steps. " "Not a farthing more, I assure you," rejoined Ireton, pettishly; "we're all on the square here. Queer world. May I go on a date tomorrow night with John Diedermayer?\" She did not look at Mike, who she knew would be wounded. That was supposed to be Madame Valade. "No, Sir, it's quite possible—more than possible.
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