You see, I—I am a woman worshipper. Fortescue in the drawing-room, and actually shake hands with him in an entirely hopeless manner and hope everything would turn out for the best. ’ She struck her hands together. I see that I am a beast—I beg your pardon, bête—and an imbecile, and an idiot. CHAPTER XVIII The doctor reached for the key and studied it sombrely. At the cost of quite a number of torn drafts she succeeded in evolving this: “DEAR MR. "I've spoken. This was followed by heavy footsteps, and in another moment the dining-room door was flung open.
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