The fibre of his soul had to be tested, queerly, to make him worthy of you. “Just do it. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. '" "An ingenious device," laughed Gay. I do not care in the least. . ’ She shrugged fatalistically. “Oh, Lord!” she said, discovering what she was up to, and dropped lightly from the fence upon the turf and went on her way toward the crest. No man knew whence she had come nor why. “You know very well that she is selfish and pleasure-loving to the backbone. “What ought she to do?” “Suppose you—” “Yes, suppose I—” He felt that his advice was being asked. “I suppose you know I like you tremendously?” he pursued. "Poor Mrs.
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