“What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. Why, he can scarcely be twenty. "Is there anything wrong with it?" "Wrong? Why, you have been imposed upon somewhere. She drew a chair to the window and stared at the splendour of the tropical night. The doleful procession at once assumed a festive character. She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. " "On that night, you first met me, love," said Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to take his hand, which he coldly withdrew. She made a few protests, a few excuses for her action in accepting him, a few lame explanations, but he did not heed them or care for them. .
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