There could not, he decided, possibly be two girls so much alike. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. Again he played for her; and again the eruption of the strange senses that lay hidden in her soul. \"Thank you. Anyway, I only smoke occasionally. Perhaps Ferringhall has pensioned her off. She held out both her hands. Perhaps some one had kissed the brow that was now so cadaverous, rubbed that sunken cheek with loving fingers, held that stringy neck with passionately living hands. CHAPTER II.
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