A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. "You mean, it doesn't matter?" "Poor Hoddy! When you were ill in Canton, out of your head, you babbled words. It was a refusal of expediency, he said, and not an absolute refusal. “Look, dear,” she said presently, “you can put the ten on the Jack. She kept opening her eyes and looking at it. You'll be along next spring?" "If the old tub will float. CHAPTER XII.
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