The young man entered into a lively little war of words with a yellow-haired young person near the door. How fortunate that she recognises the resemblance. In a sense it alters nothing. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. He was out of breath, and spoke in broken sentences. "How do I know you are a friend?" asked Darrell. There was no answer. He too was flushed and ruffled; one side of his collar had slipped from its stud and he held a hand to the corner of his jaw. " "Heaven help her!" sighed Jack. Afterward she wanted to get her letter to her father back in order to read it over again, and, if it tallied with her general impression of it, re-write it. " At the mention of the latter occurrence, a dark cloud gathered upon the stranger's brow.
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