She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. At last, she breathed. '" "Let me see," cried Jack, snatching the paper, and eagerly perusing the advertisement. ’ ‘How exciting. . Her two sticks were bare and brown, her snugged canvas drab, her brasses dull, her anchor mottled with rust. Afraid there'll be a love-affair.
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