” John looked at her sympathetically. She followed the landlady half way up-stairs, and called up to Ann Veronica, “May I come up? It’s me! You know—Nettie Miniver!” She appeared before Ann Veronica could clearly recall who Nettie Miniver might be. She admired and rather pitied him, and she was unfeignedly grateful to him. The present divinity of the cellar was a comely middle-aged dame, almost as stout, and quite as shrill-voiced, as the Billingsgate fish-wives above-mentioned, Mrs. ” She said under her breath. “I wish I didn’t swear. ‘All right, Trodger.
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