"I do," replied Jack, carelessly. The slim knife was wrested from her grasp, and she was flung backwards, towards the bookcases. ’ The fury welled. It seemed an emblem of the ruin he had caused. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. She spent the morning up to ten in writing a series of unsuccessful letters to Ramage, which she tore up unfinished; and finally she desisted and put on her jacket and went out into the lamp-lit obscurity and slimy streets.
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