” “I am staying,” she answered coolly, “at a small boarding-house near Russell Square. " "Those terms were a third of my estate," observed Trenchard bitterly. She felt very awkward as she stared at 103 the top of his ashen hair. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. She was quite the rage, in a small way, you know. Recognising the handwriting, he glanced swiftly at the signature, and uttering an explosive curse, cast the paper from him. ” She was able to go straight to her room without delay, and she at once locked the door with a little sigh of relief.
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