“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. ‘Now be sensible, Melusine, and let me help you. ’ ‘What husband?’ ‘Precisely. I don’t want to know. " "A bold resolution," said the woollen-draper. Curiosity held her by one hand, urging her to recklessness, and caution held her by the other. And if the woman is not a rival, she must be—yes, that must be it. At times he was brilliant and masterful, talked round and over every one, and would have been domineering if he had not been extraordinarily kindly; at times he was almost monosyllabic, and defeated Miss Garvice’s most skilful attempts to draw him out.
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