"The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. ” “I suppose people would say that it is a matter of temperament,” she continued. She controlled herself, and answered meekly, “No. But you must not imagine me wrapped in melancholy. I didn’t allow myself to see things as they were in those days; now I do. I know that in my heart I would take whatever he gave. He hated to destroy it; but that was the obligation imposed; and he was an honourable man. She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. “Where should we go?” Knowing that they would be dogged wherever they went, she volunteered, “Let’s go to the Big Apple. “I”—he seemed to have a difficulty with the word—“I love you. She's not mischievous—and besides she's chained, and can't reach you. ‘That’s wicked, that is. He accepted the glass of wine, and bowed. ‘Damn you, what’s the matter with you?’ he snapped in frustration.
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