” The dinner was admirable as a dinner; nothing went wrong, from the golden and excellent clear soup to the delightful iced marrons and cream; and Miss Stanley’s praises died away to an appreciative acquiescence. In each pause she could sense his growing trepidation. Wood, you shan't lord it over me, I can promise you. Think better of it. “I wonder how it is,” she exclaimed, “that my friends have so much more confidence in me than I have in myself. There is a small yewtree west of the church. I wish very much that you had written before leaving Paris. In between naps she increasingly found herself gazing at him, his large nose, his eyes circled in silvery plum shadows, his thin lips parted as he slept baring a rim of perfect teeth. . ” “How?” “Well—a little clumsily. ' So I go to Patagonia. "Good-bye, Mac.
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