Marriage!—and no woman by to tell the child what it was! The shocks and disillusions she would have to meet unsuspectingly—and bitterly. She had begun to care about her appearance again, looking into the glass he gave her, a thing nearly priceless that was bordered in intricate golden filigree and rubies. “I can only be a few years older than you, and I have been married four years. Courtlaw is looking after you, Miss Pellissier,” she said. “I am sick of it. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. She showered after she heard the door shut and the cars pull out of the driveway. Or had she, like himself, been held up until the fellow returned to town? He waited, his ready humour anticipating her likely reaction. ” “Why not?” she asked quietly.
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