A slight rain fell at the time; and a few leaves, caught by the eddies, whirled around. There was some one there. Their subsequent conversation is outside the scope of our story. The Wastrel—as we call him—cannot play when he's sober; hands too shaky. " "Mr. Was the young lady impatient for experience? Was she adventurous? As a man of the world he did not think it becoming to accept maidenly calm as anything more than a mask. Once he had managed to stake his claim, she would have all to do to prove her identity and win it back. The next moment he was by her side. A hazy face appeared through the fog of sleep, pale and thin and looming. “I hope that it has not done any harm. I don’t feel it. No tricks would serve.
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