Too late, alas, to stop the disastrous marriage. He was accompanied by a young man of about seven-and-twenty, who carried his easel, set it in its place, laid the canvass upon it, opened the paint box, took out the brushes and palette, and, in short, paid him the most assiduous attention. "Another moment, and it'll be too late. “Tell me his name,” he said, “and I promise that he shall never trouble you. He took a sip of punch and commenced his relation. " "But not for me," growled Terence, in an under tone.
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