Her brother Roddy, who was in the motor line, came to expostulate; her sister Alice wrote. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. Mr. I next proceeded to Jenny Bunch's, the Ship, in Trig Lane—there I got the same answer. “You see,” he said, “it is doubtful if we can ever marry. But I'll tell e'e what we might do——" The young man heard no more. "Won't you take these?" For a space he merely stared at her, perhaps wondering if she were real. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. He would have to make sure of her silence. “Why, it’s David!” he exclaimed. “Now look here, Veronica, let us be plain with each other.
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