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"Had I not been the guilty wretch I am," he cried, bursting into an agony of tears, "she would never have died thus. " The Wastrel laughed. But she had spent nearly half of it, and had no conception of how such a sum could be made good again. I say, I'll take the yarn over and read it to McClintock. The comtesse always felt Madame Valade to be not of her class, of course. His lovely black eyes softened until they became like languid as the night sky. ” “Well,” she said, “has there not been some reason for this? The likeness to Annabel could scarcely have escaped remark. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Just an idea of mine. It generalized everything she put to it. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. Undraw the curtain, love," she added to Thames, "that I may look at you. . ” Diane purred.

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