He picked up the broken fiddle and beckoned. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. Bottles and glasses usurped the place of dishes and plates. Her cogitations were dissipated by a knock on the door. Wild in his own domain. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity. And we won’t make it so. “I didn’t know you were half-Gypsy either. Never before had he seen a man like Enschede nor heard a voice like Ruth's. "Here we part,—perhaps for ever.
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