‘Oh, peste,’ she cried out in distressed tones. A doubt as to your dinner to-morrow would make you miserable to-night. Mr. She had tried to shift the subject of conversation away from herself and was even managing successfully until Chen the father addressed her. She sat down by the paperrack with a general feeling of resemblance to Vivie Warren, and looked through the Morning Post and Standard and Telegraph, and afterward the half-penny sheets. Henry Clay, thirteen cents in Hong-Kong and two-bits in that dear old New York. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. There’s something—puppyish in a man’s usual attitude to women. ” “I’m curious.
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