Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. I don’t see what you can have to say. ” Michelle said. The spinsters—who on the morrow would vanish out of the girl's life for ever—had already left their imprint upon her imagination. "I cannot sign it," returned Trenchard. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. O'Higgins followed him into the dining room. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. But heavens, I must pack!” She sprang to her feet and disappeared in the room beyond, from which she emerged a few minutes later with flushed cheeks and dishevelled hair.
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