" "Tell him so, and have done with him, Sir Rowland," observed Jonathan coldly. "Well?" he whispered. Cursing himself for his inertness, Jack soon shook off this drowsiness, and set to work in earnest. ‘Though we might have done, if a certain addlepated clothhead hadn’t let her get away. "Shall I never see that sweet face again,—never feel the pressure of those kind hands more—nor listen to that gentle voice! Ah! yes, we shall meet again in Heaven, where I shall speedily join you. You are not my husband. ” “She invited me to dinner anyway. It is impossible. . I would that you were my own. And yet—he thought of the supper party where he had met Annabel Pellissier, the stories about her, his own few minutes’ whispered lovemaking! He was a self-contained young man, but his cheeks grew hot at the thought of the things which it had seemed quite natural to say to her then, but which he knew very well would have been instantly resented by the girl whom he had just left. I thought that you were he. I was—I was a corespondent.
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