Behind Mrs. I thought—the papers said——” “You thought that I was dead,” he interrupted. " "Never!" cried Mrs. “My sister,” she murmured, “is so independent. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. She had to think of something fast, or her reaction would start to make believers out of everyone. He did not so much cut into this conversation as loom over it, for he was a tall, if rather studiously stooping, man. ‘Bon. "Well, my dear, I've a proposal to make in regard to this babby of yours, which may, or may not, be agreeable. As you admitted to me—one has to square one’s self with the world.
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