" He opened his eyes again. ’ ‘Hadn’t the wit, you mean. . “It is so difficult,” she murmured, “so impossible to explain. . He—In fact, he—he locked me in my room. Rhea laughed and lunged for the broadsword that Sebastian had carelessly left lying on the ground. No blowzy barmaids for him to-day: an American bar-keep to whom he could tell his troubles and receive the proper meed of sympathy. " "My dear," observed Wood, "you should be more charitable—" "Charitable!" repeated his wife, "that's your constant cry.
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