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"I promise you," said Jen again. "Please go. Miss Dallas. There is no time to be lost, and you must not be found here." "And where is Mr. Sarby?" asked the inspector, as they turned to leave the room. "You certainly do," said Jen, dryly. "Will you repay it by marrying him?".

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"No," returned Sarby, after a pause. "I think he is a bad lot." As she went out of the gate the postman came in, and at the sight of another letter my heart slunk off into my slippers, and my brain seemed about to back up in a corner and refuse to work. In a flash it came to me that men oughtn't to write letters to women very much—they really don't plough deep enough, they just irritate the top soil. I took this missive from Alfred, counted all the fifteen pages, put it out of sight under a book, looked out of the window and saw Mr. Johnson shooed off down the street by Mrs. Johnson; saw the doctor's car go chugging hurriedly in the garage, and then my spirit turned itself to the wall and refused to be comforted. I tried my best, but failed to respond to my own remonstrances with myself, and tears were slowly gathering in a cloud of gloom when a blue gingham, romper-clad sunbeam burst into the room. It was now close upon the hour, and Isabella was wondering how she could get rid of Dido, whom she did not wish to be present at the coming interview. The inborn jealousy of the woman, and her advocacy of Dr. Etwald's suit, made her an unpleasant third at such a meeting. Moreover, Maurice instinctively disliked this sullen creature, and was never quite easy in her presence. Miss Jinny, at the sight of Patricia fluttering in among them in her white gauzy draperies like some dainty moth, held out a reproving finger..