" "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger. “Do you mean, aunt,” she asked, “that my father thought I had gone off—with some man?” “What else COULD he think? Would any one DREAM you would be so mad as to go off alone?” “After—after what had happened the night before?” “Oh, why raise up old scores? If you could see him this morning, his poor face as white as a sheet and all cut about with shaving! He was for coming up by the very first train and looking for you, but I said to him, ‘Wait for the letters,’ and there, sure enough, was yours. E. “Better state of mind,” she gasped. I should feel that I had been obliged to find some one else to fight my battles for me. When first you left your home you had no idea that I was the hidden impulse. Wood had retired to his own room, where he had just summoned Thames. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. There was none. Including the wings, it presented a frontage of five hundred and forty feet. "Manuscripts! Why, this chap is a writer, or is trying to be. " Neither man spoke.
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