" This business over, she returned to the bedside with the key. Suppose—suppose a girl did want to start in life, start in life for herself—” She looked him frankly in the eyes. "Ah!" exclaimed Lady Trafford, exerting all her strength. " "My mind's made up," rejoined Jack, coldly,—"we part to-night. Shall I send him to Sir John?” Annabel was white to the lips, but her anger was not yet spent. Her fanciful imagination no longer drew pictures of the aunt in the doorway of a wooden house, her arms extended in welcome. ‘She means thanks to you, General,’ Gerald translated automatically, forgetful of his old commander’s fiery temper. Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. Ruth had lived in a world without caresses. He was mad. Her eyes travelled about the room as if in appeal to the very chairs. .
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