He had finally put aside The Lilac Sunbonnet, gone into his study, lit the gas fire, and written the letter that had brought these unsatisfactory relations to a head. " "You won't complain of the delay when I tell you what I've done," answered Jack. "I can't help thinking of it, Sir," answered the widow. Occasionally the flames would bend, twist and writhe crazily as the punka-boy bestirred himself. He did not particularly care. . The cry was echoed by twenty different voices. . ‘Merci, dieu. At length he proceeded toward McClintock's bungalow, drawn by the lights and the sound of music.
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