“Good-bye, Miss Pellissier, and success to you,” he said. She cursed the treachery of memory, its frailty and spottiness. The Supper at Mr. ” “You like me?” “Yes. “I must live, you know. “Nor am I going to,” she answered, smiling. “But,” he said, “you do not blame me altogether?” She rose to her feet. Whatever may happen to-morrow I shall be none the better for anticipating its miseries to-day. When they were home, the pair headed for the Big Apple or the warmth of the Beck’s family table.
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