“MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. ’ The core of hurt rose up, tearing at her insides. ‘You kissed me that you might make me find it for you instead?’ ‘I had no such intention. There's a letter for the head turnkey, Mr. “I might return the compliment, Courtlaw,” he answered, “by asking why the devil you come lurching on to the pavement like a drunken man. His hair is oddly streaked with gray —I might say a dishonourable gray. Well, let him be honest. Making her couch upon a heap of hay, she sank at once into a deep and refreshing slumber.
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