picture beside the mantel--a portrait of Frederick R. Woods--and his
eyes when he wheeled about were wistful.
Then, on a sudden, they lighted up as if they had caught fire from
hers, and his adoration flaunted crimson banners in his cheeks, and
his heart, I dare say, was a great blaze of happiness. He loved her,
you see; when she entered a room it really made a difference to this
absurd young man. He saw a great many lights, for instance, and heard
music. And accordingly, he laughed now in a very contented fashion.
"I wasn't burglarising," said he--"that is, not exactly. I ought to
have asked your permission, I suppose, before coming here, but I