But after the first shock came a warm glow of relief. "Sit down, fool!" "Jack," said Kneebone, who had been considerably interested by the foregoing scene, "are these regrets for your past life sincere?" "Suppose them so," rejoined Jack, "what then?" "Nothing—nothing," stammered Kneebone, his prudence getting the better of his sympathy. Manning. Even Capes had been for her merely an excitant to passionate love—a mere idol at whose feet one could enjoy imaginative wallowings. “Forgive me,” he decided to say at last, and his voice had a little quiver of emotion, and he laid his hand on hers upon her knee. A man might be without relatives, but certainly he would not be without friends, that is to say, without letters. There's my thumb upon it. “I won’t pretend,” he said, “that this is an accident. ‘And nor do I.
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