But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. Leave the room! leave the house, Sir! and enter it again at your peril. But, if I were in your place, I know what I'd do—" "What—what would you do?" asked Hogarth, eagerly. “My dear girl,” he said, in a tone of patient reasonableness, “you are a mere child. After that time, I shall place my setters on your heels. Above the work-table was a drop-light—kerosene.
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