” “It is you,” he cried, “you, who are talking folly, when you speak of friendship between you and me. I know not who you are; and, as I cannot discern your face, I may be doing you an injustice. "With pleasure, Sir," replied Edgeworth Bess. Paris looms behind—a tragedy of strange recollections—here she emerges Phœnix-like, subtly developed, a flawless woman, beautiful, self-reliant, witty, a woman with the strange gift of making all others beside her seem plain or vulgar. " "Could I credit your wild story, I might do so," returned Thames, with a look of perplexity. ” “Oh!” he said, in a colorless tone, and with his eyes on her face.
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