Don't suppose," she added, with a scornful glance at her helpmate, "that I would pay him the compliment of thinking he could possibly be the father of such a boy as you. "My coat!" he repeated, his glance burning into hers. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. “Is that so? Who says?” He demanded, his eyebrows arching as he looked at her with puerile glee. But take a drop of wine," urged he, filling a drinking-horn and presenting it to her; "it's choice canary, and'll do you good. ” “You are not yourself to-night, Courtlaw,” Ennison said.
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