Nothing would induce me to marry you, or any man at present. It was a copy of the pencil sketch taken of him nine years ago by Winifred, and awakened a thousand tender recollections. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. ‘But I find you excessively rude, Gérard. And God had let him do it! He was—and now he perfectly understood that he was—treading the queerest labyrinth a man had ever entered. It engulfed them in black, white, and gray. ” “The faults are the best part of it,” said Ann Veronica; “why, even our little vicious strains run the same way. Would she ever find it? Sighing, she opened the door to the next room, and drew back the drapes. “I may not see the Widgetts for some little time, father,” she said. CHAPTER XXIX. .
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