" "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued. If only you knew what this means to me!" "We do, lad," replied McClintock, gravely. “This life is killing me! Oh, it is dull, dull, dull!” Suddenly an idea seemed to strike her. Stanley, standing on the hearthrug with his back to the unlit gas-fire. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless. “Turn me. I needn't tell you to tread carefully. I haven't touched the other. At length, the train approached St.
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