But when she was thinking it over in her room that evening vague and baffling doubts came drifting across this conviction. Time enough to do so when she has her affairs settled—if she can settle them. “You go home and think of all this,” he said, “and talk about it to-morrow. Immediately the "boy" went forth with his paper lantern, repeating a cry as he ran—warning to clear the way. I wonder how it is,” she added, “that boys always make love so impertinently. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. “I want a vote for myself,” she said. You never saw him before yesterday. “Lucy Albert.
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