“Life’s so queer,” she said, kneeling and looking into the flames. She listened, listened intently for several minutes. Nothing more forlorn could be conceived. You did not complain then that I personated you—no, nor when Sir John came to me in Paris, and for your sake I lied. It isn’t illusions—for us. They've paid for their lodging. Why did the beggar hang on down there, when he could have enjoyed all that civilization had to offer? Yes, he would be mighty glad to see McClintock; and the sooner he came the better. Here, it might be anything at all. ” She smiled at him cheerfully.
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