A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. “How are ya, buddy? Good job at the concert. And as he gave back the portfolio to Sir Rowland he contrived, unobserved, to slip the precious document into his sleeve, and from thence into his pocket. Her voice was soft and singularly musical; but from time to time she uttered old-fashioned words which forced him to grope mentally. " "May I trust you?" cried Thames, eagerly.
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