Because here was the haven for which she had been blindly groping: the positive abolition of all her father's rights in her—the right to drag her back. “MY DEAR MISS PELLISSIER,— “To-morrow the six months will be up. A light was visible in the garret, feebly struggling through the damp atmosphere, for the night was raw and overcast. When she had finished the first tale, there was a sense of disappointment. There was also a curious interview at a big hotel with a middle-aged, white-powdered woman, all covered with jewels and reeking of scent, who wanted a Companion. Of course she had taken the boy as her lover, acting as his muse.
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