She was going through with that, anyhow. She was wearing a becoming tea-gown, and it was quite certain that Sir John would not be home for several hours at least. Then he hovered undecidedly for some seconds with his hands in his pockets and his mouth puckered to a whistle before he turned to go home by the Avenue. Around him were all the evidences of plenty. She addressed her letters, meditated on them for a time, and then took them out and posted them. Gashes on his arms were already beginning to heal and disappear. For a moment O'Higgins had hoped that the ink applications would be recent. "Won't you be persuaded, Joan?" he added, making a similar offer to Mrs. " "Farewell, Jack," cried twenty voices. It was not possible for him to have been deceived. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper.
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