"I'll tell you a dream I had last night," continued the unfortunate being. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. ’ He glanced at the portrait behind her. "Don't fire," cried the latter. Drink the toast, Jack. I took the money myself, and ought to know. “I dare not,” she answered.
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