“What a hypocrite you are. Certain of my prey, I can afford to wait for it. There was a very white-faced youngster of eighteen who brushed back his hair exactly in Russell’s manner, and was disposed to be uncomfortably silent when he was near her, and to whom she felt it was only Christian kindness to be consistently pleasant; and a lax young man of five-and-twenty in navy blue, who mingled Marx and Bebel with the more orthodox gods of the biological pantheon. Her mother had prepared her for everything. —"Stay! something occurs to me. I—I don’t understand,” the man faltered wearily. “Were you ever in love, aunt?” she asked. ” He looked interrogation with a faint smile.
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