"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. He returned figuratively to his bed—the bed he had made for himself and in which he must for ever lie. "Who knows but this key may open a golden lock one of these days?" And, picking it up, he thrust it into his pocket. Even this man had accepted her for “Alcide” without a moment’s question. "Is she married?" he asked, after a brief pause. Where else could she go?’ ‘And there aren’t too many of them around,’ agreed Hilary on a gloomy note. E.
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