You jumped, and I think that you left me. It was Annabel who caught at the paper. ‘Don’t involve me in your lover’s tiff. “MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. One day it was gone. Not fit to be dust on your boots. There was the world besides, looming darker and larger. This whole affair is truly my fault. But this is not sufficient. What had been happening all this time? ‘Do you tell me he has not again left his apartment?’ ‘Only to go to some party or other Monday night,’ Kimble said. You were afraid of me, afraid that I should have been shocked, afraid of the scandal. Jonathan aimed a blow at him, which, if it had taken place, must have instantly terminated the strife; but, avoiding this, he sprang at the thief-taker, and grappled with him. “I think,” he said, “that some one ought to warn her.
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