"Too good for Willy Hammond, in my opinion," said Matthew. "Clever and generous as people call him."
"Just my opinion," was responded. "She's as pure and good, almost, as an angel; and he?—I can tell you what—he's not the clear thing. He knows a little too much of the world—on its bad side, I mean."
The appearance of Slade put an end to this conversation. A second observation of his person and countenance did not remove the first unfavorable impression. His face had grown decidedly bad in expression, as well as gross and sensual. The odor of his breath, as he took a chair close to where I was sitting, was that of one who drank habitually and freely; and the red, swimming eyes evidenced, too surely, a ripid progress toward the sad condition of a confirmed inebriate. There was, too, a certain thickness of speech, that gave an other corroborating sign of evil progress.
"Have you seen anything of Frank this after-
