"Don't mention it," returned Wood, in the conciliatory tone of one who admits he has been in the wrong; "your explanation is perfectly satisfactory. He shuddered. Do you know, Annabel, that you are my wife. They compromised at length on the science course at the Tredgold Women’s College—she had already matriculated into London University from school—she came of age, and she bickered with her aunt for latch-key privileges on the strength of that and her season ticket. Well, he was executed for murder. I don't know; I really don't know," she found herself repeating. Her first impulse was to fly to the window; and she was about to pass through it, at the risk of sharing the fate of the unfortunate lady, when her arm was grasped by some one in the act of ascending the ladder from without. He's on the ragged edge. She drew a breath, and sighed it out. "Devilish nice ham you've got here!—capital pie!—and, as I live, a flask of excellent canary. ” “Heavens!” the lady exclaimed.
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