. ’ He thought Roding gave him an odd look, but his next question was already in his head. My mother died the day I was born; that’s what they tell me. Spare him!—pity me!" With this she arose, and, taking up the infant, was about to proceed down stairs, when she was alarmed by hearing the street-door opened, and the sound of heavy footsteps entering the house. “And where,” he asked, “are my rivals?” “Deserters,” she answered, laughing. " "And leave you thus?" rejoined Jack. One puts gloves on one’s greedy fingers. “It is not, of course, a pleasant subject of conversation for you or for me, yet I think I may venture to suggest to you that your sister’s—er—indiscretions—have reached a point which makes a separation between you almost a necessity.
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