"Rot, weren't they?" "No. “I wish,” she said, “that you would leave off looking at me as though I were something grisly. . " "What's that?" "Think it over," said McClintock, grimly. “There, there, now. I burned it. But give me till to-morrow—only till to-morrow—I may be able to part with him then. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection.
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