“I don’t think you see,” she replied, with tears on her cheeks, and her brows knitting, “how it shames and, ah!—disgraces me—AH TISHU!” She put down the tray with a concussion on her toilet-table. The shops were lighting up into gigantic lanterns of color, the street lamps were glowing into existence, and she had lost her way. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. She doubted how she stood toward him and what the restrained gleam of his face might signify.
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