” He met her questioning eye, and repeated, “Oh! it IS a success. “I wish you didn’t. "You are a paragon of prudence and discretion," rejoined the woollen-draper, drawing his chair closer to hers. Her mouth was an effective tourniquet. ‘Oh, Jacques, I cannot forgive myself!’ ‘Never you fret, miss,’ he uttered at once in a faint voice. “Oh God!” she cried, “Oh God!” and flung aside her opera-cloak, and for a time walked about the room—a Corsair’s bride at a crisis of emotion. She refused to accept her fate, but what is it that she could do about it? Night after night she invented alternatives. So I come round the other way and—Lordy, miss, I’m that sorry I made a mull of it.
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