and at once translated this news for the benefit of Fran Wohlgemuth, who murmured, "Ach!" and shook her head.
"The fog is even yet in my throat," proceeded the artist, to whom most of the quests were listening, "I can still nothing but lurid patches of gaslight on a background of solid, mephitic fume. There are fine effects to be caught, there's no denying it; but not every man has the requisite physique for such studies. As I came along here from the railway-station, it occurred to me that the Dante story might have been repeated in my case: the Neapolitans should have pointed at me and whispered, 'Behold the man who has been in hell'"
Cecily was amused; she looked at Madeline and exchanged a friendly glance with her. At the same time she was becoming aware that Mr. Marsh, who sat opposite, vouchsafed her the homage of his gaze rather too frequently and persistently. It was soon manifest to her, moreover, that Madeline had noted the same thing, and
