It was a perfect windless spring day, a Sunday. Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. \" She said, and they walked down the pebble stone path designed for joggers and bikers. Will you find your destiny, I wonder, or will you go through life like so many others—a wanderer, knocking ever at empty doors, homeless to the last? Oh, if one could but find the way to your heart. Never mind. "Dear me!" she added, as she pledged the amorous woollen-draper, "what a beautiful ring that is. ’ ‘I’m hanged if I can make out either of you,’ complained Hilary.
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