The theme was a masquerade. ‘It is not for myself, you understand,’ pursued the man, in an unctuous tone that sickened the general, ‘but for this poor one. She ran 60 past it with melancholic dread towards the slope that led to the ocean. "I am sorry. ’ ‘Dear me. What else could one say? I left him to suppose—a registry perhaps. "What are you waiting for?" asked Jack, impatiently. She accomplished it with the aid of the young fellow’s hand, and stepped down into the road, glancing up at the house as she did so.
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