If the creator drew a hero anything like himself, she would accept it as a sign that he did care a little. It was there in the breast pocket, stiff and legal looking. An old man with a bent back who limped in, slow and stiff, leaning heavily on a cane. She fluttered it with a trembling hand, averting her eyes from his, and he could hear her uneven breath behind it. A few feet away, across the low vases of pink and white roses, sat Annabel, more beautiful to-night perhaps than ever before in her life. unless a copyright notice is included. And the age gets higher. I was always used to it, and I think it gives quite a tone to an establishment. At any cost! Her brothers had it practically—at least they had it far more than it seemed likely she would unless she exerted herself with quite exceptional vigor.
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