The unknown, previously so attractive, now presented another face—blank. "Stolen by a gipsy when scarcely five years old, Constance Trenchard, after various vicissitudes, was carried to London, where she lived in great poverty, with the dregs of society. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. He turned. But a middle-aged man like Ramage ought to know better than to draw out a girl, the daughter of a friend and neighbor. Not a word had been exchanged between the two boys on the road. Suddenly she had become afraid. You must think of this evening, John, sometimes—as a sort of atonement. “I don’t know whether I shall go on,” said Gwen, a novel note of languorous professionalism creeping into her voice. ” “That will follow,” said Kitty Brett—“that will follow.
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