Wood at Dollis Hill, was assaulted and half-killed by a party of ruffians, headed, he swore, by Mr. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. He himself, middle-aged, steeped in traditions of the City and moneymaking, very ill-skilled in all the lighter graces of life, as he himself well knew, could yet come to her invested with something of the halo of romance by the almost magical powers of an unlimited banking account. Boldly he turned the knob of a certain door and entered.
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