He had an air of having told her a deep, personal secret. During this period Sir Montacute has been gathered to his fathers. A victim of one of those mental typhoons that scatter irretrievably the barriers of instinct and breeding; and he had gone on the rocks all in a moment. She so wanted to keep her memory of him fresh, so wanted to memorize his kisses and to conjure his embrace someday when he was mere dust in the ground. After all there are other things. What she had termed illuminative now appeared to be only another phase of the mystery which enveloped the child. ‘But who was he, Gerald?’ ‘A damned condottiere,’ exploded Gerald, forgetting his company. She felt that there was a hidden meaning under his words. . Entering London, he bent his way towards the west-end; and having some knowledge of a secondhand tailor's shop in Rupert Street, proceeded thither, and looked out a handsome suit of mourning, with a sword, cloak, and hat, and demanded the price. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night.
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