" "He's no such thing!" cried Mrs. " "Make good your assertions," cried Trenchard, furiously, "or——" "To the proof," interrupted the stranger, calmly. “You’re burning up. "Do you compare your love—a love which all may purchase—with hers? No one has ever loved me. ” He smiled and buzzed her in to the glass doors, which opened by an unseen electronic hand. Jonathan Wild brought him off. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness.
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