CHAPTER I. Next to the executioner stood his wife—the former Mrs. She had removed her hat and utterly disarranged her already unruly black locks by running agitated fingers through them. ‘Alors, you make a game with me, I see that. ” He stared at her incredulously, and she laughed very softly. The last of Jarvis’s harlots must have departed in a hurry, for she had apparently left a roomful of clothes. “Where have you been? All these hours I have been calling for you. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ‘Then let her keep her Frenchified titles to herself. To a woman she might have confided; but to this man, kindly as he was, it was unthinkable. " "Perhaps I read of it somewhere.
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