Immediately he grasped the fact that there was drama here, probably the old drama of the fugitive. He shut his eyes and groped for the wall to steady himself, wondering if this bit of mummery would get over. —Give me the letters, my love," she added aloud, and in her most winning accents; "they're some wicked forgeries. ” “What case?” “A divorce—or something—I don’t know. “I didn’t know Mr. They vanished through the doorway. "Whose child can this be?" "How the devil should I know!" replied Jonathan gruffly. Their conversation degenerated again and again into a strain of self-congratulation that would have irked an eavesdropper. “I do not lay claim,” he continued, “to any remarkable amount of insight, but it is possible, is it not, that I have stumbled upon your present cause of distress. I can’t do it even decently myself, and I dare not run the risk of ruining all my clothes.
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