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. She read the policeman’s rueful glance when she caught his refection in his rearview mirror. ‘Don’t tell me. Sir John felt hot and furious. Never! And they don’t know it! They have no idea of it. " The answer to this request was a "smack" of a very different description, bestowed upon Sheppard's outstretched face by the little damsel, as she ran out of the room. “And yet you still live, Butterfly.
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