While he was stirring his tea, she ran and fetched the comb. "I wish merely to come out of this bargain honourably. “Good,” he said, as he watched the colour come back to her cheeks. Yes, I can readily believe it. If we do not begin—” She had come to a resolution. “It is against my husband’s orders, and I am not sure that my sister will be particularly glad to see me. ’ ‘Don’t be too sure,’ said Miss Froxfield darkly, with a mischievous glance at her betrothed. His cigar burnt out between his fingers, and he threw it impatiently away. .
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