It is a matter of degree. " "When will you want me?"—with pitiful eagerness. “Lots of ‘em!” Capes chuckled. ” She hesitated and looked for a moment straight into his eyes. The recollection of all her unhappiness, the loveless years, the unending loneliness, the injustice of it, rolled up to her lips in verbal lava. As she hoisted her skirts near her waist, she thought ruefully of the last time she had worn such an elaborate gown, sometime near 1910 when petticoats were still considered hip everyday garb. It was not possible. "The gentleman is a stranger to me, Poll," replied the woollen-draper, with increased embarrassment. Do so; and I am yours as heretofore.
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