He had a flattish, perhaps, it should be called, a flattened nose, and a brown, leathernlooking hide, that seemed as if it had not unfrequently undergone the process of tanning. Near by stood Ah Cum and the young unknown, the former protesting gently, the latter insistent upon his demands. “You may not leave. Nuns, I mean. The stage manager reappeared presently, and made a speech. A hansom stopped a little way off. Goopes down on him with the lesson Titian teaches so beautifully in his “Sacred and Profane Love,” and became quite eloquent upon the impossibility of any deception in the former.
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