" The lack of a family album for some reason put a little ache in her heart. A species of vertigo seized him. “You will write to me, I am sure—and from the date of your letter I trust most earnestly that I may come back to my old place as “Your devoted friend, “WALTER BRENDON. ” She replied. We were only—les autres. “You frighten me!” He smiled at her indulgently. Ennison paused by the little gate. She stared down at them from a high window, peering down at their moonlit faces in the bed heavy with furs, the same bed where she had given birth to Gianfrancesco’s dead son.
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