That was an admission all right. His conscience never told him to go back and take his punishment; it tortured him only in regard to the deed itself. He dashed against the screen door before she could catch him and made the veranda. There were one or two bitter moments in his life when he had been made to feel that gentility laid on with a brush may sometimes crack and show weak places—that deportment and breeding are after all things apart. “You must fetch a doctor,” she said. "Von't you hear me?—ough! ough!" demanded Sharples, after a pause. ’ To be sure there was a way. Something seemed awry. ‘You said it. “I am afraid,” he said to Anna afterwards, “that it was a mistake to order the champagne sec. We were to have breakfast there and return in the evening. "But don't wait for me, Sir Cecil. I’m rather scornful.
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