“Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. " "Who told you this is his portrait?" demanded Trenchard. 1. “Good God!” he exclaimed. A silence ensued. She drew a long breath. I should like to know how it is concerned with Sir John Ferringhall, and how my presence intervenes. Hill was exchanging greetings with his hostess, and salutations around the table. Then, presto! What a dreary lot they are when the revellers lay aside the motley! Ruth had come from a far South Sea isle. "Precisely. "We never suffer him to mention Mr. “One hardly knows—all the time.
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