“Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly. Fancying they were alone, Sir Rowland threw aside his cloak, and produced a heavy bag of money, which he flung upon the table; and, when Wild had feasted his greedy eyes sufficiently upon its golden contents, he handed him a pocketbook filled with notes. Not enough of them to make a difference. Oh dear!—how sorry I am I ever left Wych Street. It was not an affair of the conscience; it was vaguely based upon insolence and defiance. He seemed to know a great deal about life. If only for the sake of her argument with her home, she wanted success. In Wych Street Owen Wood did dwell; A carpenter he was by trade, And money, I believe, he made. ” “At any rate,” she declared, “your remarks decided me. "I was just going," said Thames. ” “Just as you wish,” Mr. Wood.
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