What do you think, Annabel?” “I don’t think they would,” she admitted. “The sooner you tell me the better. ” “That’s horrible!” He gasped. She was in ill trim for walking, but somehow or other she made her way as far as the Champs Elysées, and sank down upon an empty seat. I jumped then—I was not even shaken. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. Ramage, by a hundred skilful hints had led her to realize that the problem of her own life was inseparably associated with, and indeed only one special case of, the problems of any woman’s life, and that the problem of a woman’s life is love. Oh, John. "I'm never satisfied with a first attempt.
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