W," said Mr. Her aunt was a long time before she answered. Don’t leave me. 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. These daughters! He gnawed his pen and reflected, tore the sheet up, and began again. He thought her only an orphan in search of her English relatives. .
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