" "Never," echoed Smith, emphatically, "upon my honour. My Mom and Dad were always 184 at work. "Fire! That was what drew me to you in the beginning. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. ” Sir John stamped his letters, brushed his hat, and carefully gave his moustache an upward curl before the looking-glass. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. He beamed a little as she disappeared into the orchestra room, a cacophony of tuning instruments. “Many nights I have thought of you, Anna. It may be treacherous, it may lay up a store of future woe; but it insures present happiness, and that is sufficient.
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