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The manager conceded that he saw, that his original diagnosis was at fault. Anyhow, he did not sentimentalize her. She sat there, a mark for boulevarders, the unconscious object of numberless wondering glances. But never mind that," said McClintock grinning as he drew the dish of bread-fruit toward him. “No. "God forgive me for using such a word!" he cried, in a troubled tone; "if I hadn't yielded to my wife's silly request, this wouldn't have happened!" CHAPTER VII. She breathed into a cloth soaked in rose oil as Sebastian had prescribed, but the smell of roses mixed obscenely with the smell of death and decay, causing her to retch. It came into her head with real emotional force that this must be some particularly fantastic sort of dream.

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