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She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. " "I don't care if he is," rejoined Thames, boldly. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Perhaps the old fool was not as fanciful as they had thought. ‘But the fact remains that you should not have enjoyed it, you were quite right to threaten to kill me, and I— God help me!—should not have kissed you at all. 4.
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