"That's it!"—eagerly. “She”, you say. “How CAN I tell him?” whispered Miss Stanley. He was sitting back from the table now, with one arm over the back of his green chair and the other resting on the little table. “Why not?” Lady Lescelles answered. “You seem to be taking our little joke more seriously than it deserves, Ferringhall,” he remarked. But send me word. “Not home yet, miss,” the young man replied. CHAPTER XXIII. That is what they call these aristocratic refugees, the English. “I cannot thank you, Sir John,” she said. Still, thereafter she had avoided Morgan's; partly out of fear and partly because of her father's mandate. 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. "I have killed her," cried Jack. As the night advanced, Mr.
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