There was nothing to replace the all important letter from her father. Paul’s, were rich and wonderful with the soft sunshine of London, the softest, the finest grained, the most penetrating and least emphatic sunshine in the world. In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. On the envelope was written— Sydney Courtlaw, Esq. My son wanted to marry a woman of thirty in a tobacconist’s shop. Because I’m younger than you. At least, I hope so for his sake as well as my own," he added, mentally. "As sure as one reasonably can be. And at length her penultimate day in Morningside Park dawned for her.
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