“I suppose, Mr. Kneebone is coming, my dear," ventured Mr. Shari squealed, clutching her towel around her. So I come suppliant. I met her when we were both very young, as young as you are. “More than that, he arrived to-day at the boarding-house where I am staying, greeted me with a theatrical start, and claimed me—as his wife. He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. But the father, to go his way forever alone! The iron in the man!—the iron in this child of his! Wanting a little love, a caress now and then. “More coffee, hon?” She held her hand over the cup.
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