"We shall meet again ere long, my son," cried Mrs. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. John knew everybody, it seemed. " "Rot! Mac, what do you suppose the natives used to call her? The Dawn Pearl!" McClintock wagged his Scotch head negatively. “Go on!” “You know—in Paris they coupled my name with some one’s—an Englishman’s. “Annabel,” she said brusquely. " Just then, the infant began to sob piteously. " "Ah!" exclaimed Mrs. “I think, aunt,” she said, “you might trust to my self-respect to keep me out of that. We'll have him on his way before many days.
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