“I did it for love of you,” he said. And this is not France, you understand. We are alone, Sir Rowland," he added, snuffing the candles, glancing cautiously around, and lowering his tone, "and what you confide to me shall never transpire,—at least to your disadvantage. Jack was almost afraid of speaking; but at length he summoned courage to call out "Mother!" "Who's there?" asked a faint voice from the bed. . It’s not you—not a bit. Every home is a little recess, a niche, out of the world of business and competition, in which women and the future shelter. She pulled her veil down, and he knew that silence was best. “But, of course, she may have come from one of the other flats. ” He said. ” “I didn’t mind that little argument.
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