Good looks, with a melancholy cast, always drew sentimental females. You don’t happen to know of any one, I suppose, who wants a nursery governess, or a clerk—without shorthand—or a tryer-on, or a copyist, or——” “For Heaven’s sake stop, Miss Pellissier,” he interrupted. ” She watched his face as he traced his way through these speculative thickets. They crossed the street, and entering the front door passed up the outside stone steps of the flat. He wore a threecornered hat, a sandy-coloured scratch wig, and had a thick woollen wrapper folded round his throat. I’ve never seen her quite so sure of herself. In the end, resolution triumphed, as it was sure to do, over the weaker emotions, and he laughed at his fears.
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