’ ‘Why should you care?’ demanded Roding, exasperated. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. “One moment, if you please!” She stopped short and looked round. At the door through which she had entered the room stood the so-called Monsieur Valade. ” Michelle nodded in solemn agreement.
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