Miss Ellicot, who sang ballads, and liked Brendon to turn over the pages for her, tossed her head. Put him in the stocks, and there let him sleep off his drunken fit. So, in broken, rather breathless phrases, he told his story; and when he had done, he laid his arms upon the table and bent his head to them. "I'm never satisfied with a first attempt. Only you seem to me since the time when I knew you in Paris to have changed—to have changed in some subtle manner which I find at times utterly bewildering. “My friend,” she said, “no! Let me tell you this.
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