Whenever McClintock had guests, he loafed with them on the west veranda in the morning. Of course, he had no idea who I was. Losing his presence of mind, Jack quitted his hold, and dropped upon the frame. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. "Off!" she cried with a prolonged and piercing shriek.
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