“Yes,” he said, “I shall come. I don’t idealize you. It isn’t illusions—for us. ’ Le Petit Journal said that the man was dead. He was in evening dress: swallow-tailed coat and white tie. Spurling, who had been hastily compounding another bowl of punch. I went off to round up his wife. Sheppard, passionately,—"he has my boundless gratitude, and devotion. ” “You disappoint me,” she said wearily. " "Nonsense," returned Jonathan gruffly. “Will you tell Sydney that I will see him in the morning,” he said. Coolly and gingerly, she kissed it as it stood at its hard angle from his body. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster.
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