” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. But I give you this warning, and let it sink in. “You belong to me,” he said fiercely; “the marriage certificate is in my pocket. He came in with his hands in his trousers pockets and a general air of depression in his bearing. The arrangement had been made by the town matchmaker, a frightening old oak of a man.
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