I—well, I lost my temper. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. The effort of self-repression cost him a sob. Had Gosse taken it as he escaped? What could she do? Gosse now knew that she was the daughter of Mary Remenham. Ramage seemed always fencing about the forbidden topic, probing for openings, and she wondered why she did not give him them. She knew that to expect more now was like anticipating a gold-mine in the garden. "What is it?" demanded the woollen-draper, as he returned to the table, and took up a glass. ‘She? Sa femme? That is the game then? That she could dare to take my place, that salope.
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