He sat with folded arms and knitted brows, thinking intently. Another long interval elapsed. He said that his life was boring and stupid without her. Some one had once, in his hearing, called him a prig. We shall have—hardly any money. In the present case it did not matter, as there was no one else within earshot. He was interesting and inconclusive, and the original papers to which he referred her discursive were at best only suggestive. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. ‘Do you mean to tell me,’ enquired the captain at length, ‘that you have had the infernal audacity, the—the gall, the—the— Gad, it’s an outrage! You’ve stolen a horse from a priest?’ ‘I did not steal it,’ protested Melusine hotly.
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