On Tuesday night, she was rather better, and I had left her for a short time, as I thought, asleep on the sofa in the little parlour of which she is so fond —" "Well," exclaimed Jack. “Ruin me? Think of me with fondness? Are you dying of cancer or something?” He demanded. Jolly nice girl, too. "Well, you never can tell," he continued, lamely. “I am afraid,” he said gravely, “that your sister has been a little indiscreet. And now you are acting the cuckold, because I do not wish to waste my seed in your barren womb?\" She was too devastated to answer him. “How would you prevent it?” she asked. He was leaning against a window frame, his hat in his hand. She gave tongue to the most urgent of her plaints. “Not to-night,” she said. He dared not go on.
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