"What shall we do, Poll?" hesitated Edgeworth Bess. The only part of his otherwise-interesting countenance, to which one could decidedly object, was the mouth; a feature that, more than any other, is conceived to betray the animal propensities of the possessor. He touched her hand, soft and cool to his fingers—she turned at once to look at him. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. ” “You disappoint me,” she said wearily. ‘Have I not said so?’ ‘No, as it happens.
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