The Supper at Mr. But Gerald kept to a casual note. " "Pshaw!" cried Thames. Her straight strawberry blonde hair was exactly Cathy’s. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. "Two hundred pounds!" exclaimed Ireton, "besides the governor's offer—that's three hundred. For the first time he seemed to wonder what it might be that she had to confess. It wasn’t so much women as Woman that engaged his mind. He stood there, large and dark, enunciating, in his clear voice from beneath his large mustache, clear flat sentences, deliberately kindly. .
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