” “You are willing to give up your position, your beautiful houses, your carriages and milliner’s accounts to come back to Bohemianism?” “Why not?” Annabel declared. I wanted it badly. Wood, who had been absent on business during the greater part of the day, returned (perhaps not altogether undesignedly) at an earlier hour than was expected, to his dwelling in Wych Street, Drury Lane; and was about to enter his workshop, when, not hearing any sound of labour issue from within, he began to suspect that an apprentice, of whose habits of industry he entertained some doubt, was neglecting his employment. She may address me as “Grandfather” if she chooses, since I’m obliged to accept her in that capacity. He now understood her interest in Taber, as he called himself: habit, a twice-told tale. But, no. This is a tale of two young fools. She did not wait, but grabbed up the lantern and slid into the passage, calling to them to hurry. We were to live in some wretched London suburb.
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