” Ennison shrugged his shoulders. Wood made no reply; but, hastily kissing his weeping daughter, and bidding her be of good cheer, hurried off. “But why, Lucy? Who is it 145 that you are trying to hide from? John?” Lucy closed her eyes in earnest. “You must remember,” she said, “that you yourself are responsible for your altered looks. They had much to talk about, or rather Miss Prudence had. ’ A panel slid open and she stepped into the relative light of the little dressingroom, Kimble close behind her. Stanley took the letter and stood with it in his hand thoughtfully for a time. The fanatic has no such word in his vocabulary. .
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