If I don't, you shall clap me in the Condemned Hold in his stead. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse. “What was that?” she asked sharply. "Mine died while I was over here. I love some one else. Do so; and I am yours as heretofore. He spoke in quick nervous sentences. The cultivated indifference, which was part of the armour of his little world fell away from him. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept my invitation to join us.
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