His arms slipped around her waist as they were on the doorstep and he kissed her lips sweetly. Seizing her hand he covered it with kisses. He had deliberately saved it for last. “She wasn’t sane, my wife. "I am surprised we have received no summons for attendance to-day," he remarked; "perhaps the other robber may be secured. The vault, in which Sir Rowland found himself, resembled in some measure the cabin of a ship. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. Fancy, as they say hereabouts!" What had aroused this open-air monologue was a small tin sign in a window. It was wonderful to think this thing had lived, had felt and suffered. She put a stool for him at a little distance from her own, and after he had seen the day’s work he hesitated, and then plunged into a resumption of their discussion about beauty. Eh? Banging against the old rollers—that'll put some life into us both.
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