“Then let me be the judge of what is best,” she answered. “There wasn’t. Long ago. The fever came. Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. You have the look in your eyes to-night which you had that day, the look of a frightened child. Nothing shall induce me to act contrary to the dictates of my conscience. Coldly she spoke, in a distinctly accented voice. But woe to those who disregard them! Of course, basically it is all wrong; and sometimes God must laugh at our ideas of rectitude.
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