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"No," returned Sarby, after a pause. "I think he is a bad lot." Without waiting to take him with me, or think, or do anything but feel deadly savage anger, I hurried across the garden and into Dr. Moore's surgery, where he was just taking off his gloves and dust-coat. "That was generous of him. But why?".

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If men would just make an end of women's hearts in a businesslike way, it would be so much kinder of them. Why do they prefer to use dull weapons that mash the life out slowly? Everything is at an end for me to-night, and that blow did it. It was a horrible cruel thing for him to say to me! I know now that I have been in love with John Moore for longer than I can tell, and that I'll never love anybody else, and that also I have offered myself to him and have had to be refused at least twice a day for a year. A widow can't say she didn't understand what she was doing, even to herself, but—— My humiliation is complete, and the only thing that can make me ever hold up my head is to puzzle him by—by happily marrying Alfred Bennett—and quick. "I shall keep him here." Self-contained as ever, Etwald looked up at the wall near him, and seemed to be considering a decoration of savage arms, which looked barbaric and wild, between two oil-paintings. When Jen came back with the cigars, his gaze followed that of his guest, and he made a remark about the weapons. "What do you want to make a show of her for, Bruce?" she remonstrated feelingly. "You can say all you have to say right here, can't you?".