‘Yes, dear Nan, a flirtation. Shotbolt, who had in some degree recovered from the effects of his previous mortification, was thrown into an ecstacy of delight, and could not sufficiently exult over the prisoner. Years ago, when you were a girl and in the bloom of your beauty, I loved you. He had not been successful as the world counted success; the fat bank-account, the filled waiting room of which he had once dreamed, had never materialized except in the smoke of his evening pipe. Well, well; all he himself could do would be to watch this singular drama unroll. " "Yes.
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