‘Cousin? But I am a fool. ” “Yes, but you forget; how am I to live?” “Easily. Gerald glanced at Hilary and saw the stunned look on his face. She dropped the locket into its sweet hiding place. This morning he heard voices—McClintock's and the Wastrel's. The Red Room. She dressed rapidly and left the theatre without a word to any one. After five or six years it would not be difficult to hide in Italy or in France. There was a young lad ahead of her. Hardened as he may be, that would touch him. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. .
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