A common rage flushed their faces. He looked at her guiltily. The truth was impossible, indecent. . “Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. " "Impossible!" cried Jonathan. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. You've caught the colour and the life. Sheppard, anxiously. ” “I wonder how he treated Gwen. .
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