Ennison’s signet-ring had cut nearly to the bone. What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. Notwithstanding her emaciation, her features still retained something of a pleasing expression, and might have been termed beautiful, had it not been for that repulsive freshness of lip denoting the habitual dram-drinker; a freshness in her case rendered the more shocking from the almost livid hue of the rest of her complexion. “Anna,” he pleaded, “be merciful. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. If only there had not been this single torturing thought—a mere pin-prick, but still curiously persistent. Upon leaning back, he commented, “You look so sad. There was another phrase which sounded something like 'Gin in a blue-serge coat'. Such of his features as were visible were of coarse mould. No sooner had Trenchard crossed the threshold than a fierce barking was heard at the farther extremity of the passage, and, the next moment, a couple of mastiffs of the largest size rushed furiously towards him.
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