The Story of Antony Grace. George Manville Fenn
along Oxford Street to a substantial row of houses near Cavendish Square, where the one I looked upon as my friend paused at a large door and held out her hand to me.
“I shall hope to hear from Mr. Lister that you have got on well at the office,” she said in her sweet musical voice. “Recollect that you are my protégé, and I hope you will do me credit. I shall not forget to ask about you. You will try, will you not?”
“Oh yes,” I said hoarsely, “so hard—so very hard!”
“I believe you will,” she said, taking the parcel from my hand; “and now good-bye.”
The next moment I was standing alone upon the pavement, feeling as if a cloudiness had come over the day, while, as I looked down into my hand, it was to see there a bright new sovereign.
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