’ Miss Froxfield intervened quickly as her betrothed showed signs of erupting again. "There's Sharples," cried Quilt. The door to the apocalypse had opened! "Loves me?. Was that it? Had she clothed this unhappy young man with glamour? Or was it because he was so alone? She could not get through the husks to the kernel of what really actuated her. ‘He was our first commander, and a more stiff-necked—’ ‘Exactly so,’ concurred Lady Bicknacre. Always as black and bitter as gall. The momentary alarm over, he threw a piece of-wash leather over a bureau, so as to deaden the sound, and instantly broke it open with a small crowbar. McClintock will have some. CHAPTER XVIII.
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