“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. " "Wear that to-night, then. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. The light touch of Ah Cum's hand upon her arm broke the thread of retrospective thought; and her gray eyes began to register again the things she saw. Capes spoke casually of their plans for work. O'Higgins did not confide in me. She had felt very uncomfortable around him, grotesque. Someone had thoughtfully wrapped a bit of tissue paper round the electric bulb.
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