” “An appetite like yours,” he said resignedly, “is fatal to all sentiment. " Jonathan made no answer, but snatching a torch from a bystander, jumped into the trench and commenced a diligent search. There were sidetables and a writing table, similarly buried in bric-a-brac, and the chair by the French doors could hardly be seen for blankets. “None, I thank you,” he answered. ‘I’ll get the key,’ said Roding, turning abruptly. She felt terribly modern, even sporty as the magazines declared you should be. To-day he selected the girl, and gave her the lead-chair. Men have seen to that.
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