His little doll. Here, indeed, was a type with which he had never until now come into contact—a natural woman. Could she go through with it? She must. What was the objection? She found it impossible to look her own diffidence in the face. "Do you still refuse to make one!" "I have made one," replied Lady Trafford. He was a manly man, free from any strong maternal strain, and he had loved his dark-eyed, dainty bright-colored, and active little wife with a real vein of passion in his sentiment. ‘But―but how can he know?’ His soldier’s instinct overtook Gerald and he dropped all his insouciance in a bang, becoming brisk. Goodbye.
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