Now let us forget it. You are the woman I love, Anna. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. She munched her bland Whopper as he wolfed three in a row, stuffing his mouth with half a dozen French fries at a time. "Aye—to pretend to her that you don't care. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. Perhaps that was the reason that they both remained standing. Amidship there was also canvas, and like that over the wheel, drab and dirty.
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