The first stroke appeared to arouse all the vindictive passions of Jonathan. Supper was over. “I wonder,” he said, “if women do know things by instinct? I have my doubts about feminine instinct. You see, I’m selfish. Wood, meantime, had not remained idle. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. She wanted to stay where she was; but tears were dangerous; the more she wept, the weaker she would become defensively.
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