But not a word to him of Lady Trafford's absence—mind that. But seriously ——” “Well seriously?” “Isn’t it your own fault a little? Why do you not tell me your address, and allow me to call upon you. He wants you—or he doesn’t; and then he helps some other woman against you. “The one who used to live at Lyndmore. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. ‘Oh, dearie me, I wish I’d never told you anything about it,’ lamented the nun, moving to the only chair the vestry possessed and sinking down into it. I saw him yesterday, and he told me he shouldn't stir from home for a week to come. Wood," cried David, pouring out a glass of the spirit, and offering it to the carpenter, "that'll warm the cockles of your heart.
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