Annabel had taken her life into her hands with gay insouciance, had made her own friends, gone her own way. "Give me till to-morrow," implored she, "and if I can bring myself to part with him, you shall have him without another word. Only he hated the words he uttered, hated the blunt honesty which forced them from his lips. You are—or rather you were——” he corrected himself with an unpleasant little laugh, “Miss Pellissier, eh?” A little sensation followed upon his words. ‘What a fate he finds for me. ” “But I love you. She knew blood was rushing to his face and other places as well. Wood brought up. He was perhaps forty-five years of age. “I do not think that he is quite dead.
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