To-night she could have hugged both the old maids. ’ Lucilla Froxfield laughed gaily. A mosquito had been trapped inside and was perfectly preserved for thousands of years. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. . . ‘You give me an excellent excuse to have in the Madeira,’ said his hostess, reaching for a silver hand bell and setting it pealing. All she had found was the love of this dog. He pointed to where the lights still burned in Anna’s windows. She felt he was going to say something more—something still more personal and intimate.
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