"Oh God! she is dying," exclaimed Jack in a voice suffocated by emotion. F. ‘The wretch said nothing to anyone. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. “You delicate female!” “Who cares,” said Ann Veronica, “seeing it’s you? Warm, soft little wonders! Of course I want them. “I do not think so. .
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