“MY DEAR DAUGHTER,” it ran,—“Here, on the verge of the season of forgiveness I hold out a last hand to you in the hope of a reconciliation. And the infernal thought of that kiss returned—the softness of her lips and the cool smoothness of her cheeks. ” “I suppose we are,” said Vee, rearranging the flowers in her hand. So, when I tell you she loves you, I know. “But I’m afraid you are going to be in a hopeless minority here as regards me. “Anna,” he said, “you make it all indescribably hard for me.
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