That would be an unkind twist of fate. Jonathan cast a hasty glance around, to see that all was properly arranged for his purpose; placed a chair with its back to the door; disposed the lights on the table so as to throw the entrance of the room more into shadow; and then flung himself into a seat to await Sir Rowland's arrival. He will be some time in this comatose state. The carte de jour was before Monsieur. If any of you—or all of you feel the same in six months’ time from to-day, will you come, if you care to, and see me then?” There was a brief silence. He confided to me that he felt trapped in his marriage, that he was being ruined by fate. By the time she arrived at the Beck’s doorstep, the morning was risen. “There is no—Good God!” he exclaimed.
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