" "It wasn't the fumes of whisky that toppled him out of his chair. Wild's intention, doubtless, was to use you as far as he found necessary, and then to sell you. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. WE don’t think they’re right, but they don’t think we are. He thought of her and himself, and no longer in that vein of incidental adventure in which he had begun. Besides, revenge is sweetened by delay; and I indulge too freely in the passion to rob it of any of its zest. The evenings were dulcet and soft. He had been on the point of leaving the restaurant. ‘Now then, girl.
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