“We’ll clean up everything tidy,” said Capes. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. I should like to have had you forgive me. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity. It’s not far from twilight. “Is your husband here to-night?” he asked. And yet—you millionaires should really, I think, cultivate the art of discrimination. The man who staggers, whose face is flushed, whose attitude is either noisily friendly or truculent, has some chance; liquor bends him eventually. McClintock would bang his fist upon the table. ‘I disgust you, eh? Very well, then. "Is it by lettin' you go, my darlin', that I'm to airn it?" inquired Terence. The cry was echoed by twenty different voices.
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