“I regret that you should ever have proposed it,” he went on. Oh! and love—love! We’ve had so splendid a time, and fought our fight and won. “It’s my fault. Egad! I shall make a good thing of it. Diable. (“Good job. “You hear him?” he remarked, looking impressively around. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. The joy that filled her veins with throbbing fire urged her to rise and go swinging and whirling and dipping.
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