She imagined descending the stairs, hearing Mike’s uproarious laughter as she peeked around a vacant corner with a lump in her throat. . She had thought—What had she thought? That this dependence of women was but an illusion which needed only to be denied to vanish. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. Tell me that again. Of course a little daughter is a delightful thing enough.
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