Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. Twenty-one, twenty-two. . We don’t consider each other; we needn’t. “You little wretch!” she exclaimed weakly. He will let you live if it pleases him. Satisfied in this respect, he flung himself into a chair, for his iron frame seldom required the indulgence of a bed, and sought an hour's repose before he began the villanies of another day. “And what was that dreadful confession you had to make?” he was saying. ’ ‘I could have done so at the first and saved you the pain,’ she told him merrily. Before she put on her sun-helmet, she paused before the mirror.
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