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You must forgive the poet’s license I take. He carried her into his bedroom as she unfastened the tiny white buttons of his shirt. Spare me yet a little while, Father! not for my own sake, but for the sake of this poor babe. It was no use. With this view, he suffered him to pass on. The Return 231 II. How you dress when you're loafing will be no concern of mine; but fresh twill or Shantung, when you dine with me, collar and tie. ‘No need to shake in your boots,’ Gerald said soothingly. One mistress enough to ruin a man,—two, the devil.

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