" "I'm not afraid, mother," said the little girl, smelling at the bouquet. He did not pocket it, but sat hefting it lightly from hand to hand, watching the girl thoughtfully. He turned irresolutely to the table upon which lay the scattered leaves of his old manuscripts. ‘You know about that?’ ‘It was the only possible deduction. He was a small, dark, reserved man, with a large inflexiblelooking convex forehead, and his wife was very pink and high-spirited, with one of those chins that pass insensibly into a full, strong neck. “What made you think” he said, abruptly, with the gleam of avidity in his face, “that love makes people happy?” “I know it must. Furious shouting, and the thunder of running feet. “Don’t think so,” Drummond answered. “I find it very hard to write this letter.
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