“I wonder if there is!” said Capes, and paused, and then bent down over the boy who wore his hair like Russell. A medley of motives warred in her, and it was certainly not one of the least of these that she knew herself to be passionately in love with Capes; at moments she had a giddy intimation that he was beginning to feel keenly interested in her. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. He's a hundred miles sou'-east of me. ‘You know?’ ‘Come, come, Melusine. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. Better get a dress. “By Jove!” he broke out, “one tries to take a serious, sober view.
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