” “Yeah, I think she hates you, hon. Ah! what's that?" he exclaimed, as some one brushed hastily past him. There came a wild rush of anthropological lore into her brain, a flare of indecorous humor. I am your husband, though as yet your hand has scarcely lain in mine. And in reality even that magic garden-close resolves itself into a villa at Morningside Park and my father being more and more cross and overbearing at meals—and a general feeling of insecurity and futility. “Good-looking rascal she met at Worthing.
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