A shout was heard at a little distance, and, the next moment, a person rushed with breathless haste to the stair-head. You call it a lot of nicknames—“Babs” and “Bibs” and “Viddles” and “Vee”; you whack at it playfully, and it whacks you back. "Aha! my lad!" he cried without appearing to regard the pain of the wound; "now I'll show you no quarter. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. “If one half of the stories about Meysey Hill are true,” he answered, “I would not stretch out my little finger to save his life. “As if it could possibly matter what such a person thinks of you.
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