” “You love—Anna?” she exclaimed. " "I'm sure I'm very sorry. Nothing ensued. He read "The Beachcombers" to McClintock that night after coffee; and when he had done, the old trader nodded. ‘Because I love you. The vast heap of rubbish on the floor had been so materially increased by the bricks and plaster thrown down in his attack upon the wall of the Red Room, that it was with some difficulty he could find the blanket which was almost buried beneath the pile. Is all your house on the same scale of magnificence as this, Annabel?” she asked, looking round. A neat tale, giving little away.
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