Fame of any sort was folly and she knew better. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. "You will make me the happiest of mankind," cried the woollen-draper, falling on his knees, and seizing her hand, which he devoured with kisses. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. “I gave your name. She hated to leave; for this hour would be the most interesting. . I don’t know if I express myself clearly. ” “All the more reason why she shouldn’t get herself talked about.
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