A man is so apt to—to take women a little too lightly. CHAPTER XVI. The more she disentangled the lines of her situation the deeper grew her self-disgust. Now drop it. But a little daughter is one thing and a daughter quite another. She would look up, shake her head, and then go back to her reading or crewelwork. Dieu du ciel! Gerald was kissing her! She struggled to be free, and the arms that held her loosened, the lips leaving hers. It goes to my heart to disappoint you, but this thing must not be. Gerald was instantly on the alert. I think a wife a needless incumbrance, and mean to die a bachelor. "What is it?" "The night," she answered. Wood fared still worse. You creep around in a nun’s habit, peering into a private ballroom. "Mother!" she echoed,—"mother! why do you call me by that name?" "Because you are my mother.
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