” “I’m afraid it can’t. The letter began: “MY DEAREST GIRL,—I cannot let you do this foolish thing—” She crumpled notes and letter together in her hand, and then with a passionate gesture flung them into the fire. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. It was denied him, for as he closed his eyes—though but for an instant—the whole scene of his former visit to the place rose before him. The blow had brought him back to the realm of sober thought. . As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. While he thus vented his rage, the door again opened, and Quilt Arnold rushed into the room, bleeding, and half-dressed. Her heartbeat quickened.
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