"Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. " CHAPTER IX. The next morning came a compact letter from her father. She felt that perhaps, in her desire to play an adequate part in the conversation, she had talked rather more freely than she ought to have done, and given him a wrong impression of herself. On a sudden, a change came over her countenance, which, up to this moment, had worn a smiling and satisfied expression. "Sir Rowland must be gone. " "Mr. He paced faster, stomping around. “For luck. ’ ‘Ah.
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