Her cheeks burned for a moment or two when she reached the street, although she held her head upright and walked blithely, even humming to herself fragments of an old French song. He reached for her chin and lifted it up. He had a handsome, jolly-looking face; stood six feet two in his stockings; and measured more than a cloth-yard shaft across the shoulders—athletic proportions derived from his father the dragoon. It was the bitterest moment of her life. "I am quite easy now; receive my blessing, my dear son; and if we never meet again, rest assured my last prayer shall be for you. Something, then, to appease the wrath of God; something to blunt this persistent agony. ‘Don’t fob me off, boy. Only I wish—I wish to-day I was a thousand times, ten thousand times more beautiful.
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