“MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. Wild's figure. ” Anna was not late, but her heart sank within her when she entered the drawingroom. On the mantelpiece in front of her was a note addressed to her in Annabel’s handwriting. “I told you I did not love you. It had her raven locks, her pouting lips. Can she stay for dinner?\" Michelle asked, almost begging. Why was she noting things like this? Capes seemed selfpossessed and elaborately genial and commonplace, but she knew him to be nervous by a little occasional clumsiness, by the faintest shadow of vulgarity in the urgency of his hospitality.
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