A Woman's Will. Warner Anne

      GOOD-BYE—good-bye, Rosina!” cried Jack, giving one last violent wave to his handkerchief. And then he put it back in his pocket, because the crowd upon the deck of the departing Liner had now become a mere blur in the distance, and distant blurs seemed to his practical nature unworthy any further outlay of personal energy. “But oh!” he added, as he and Carter turned to quit the dock, “how the family are just agoing to revel in peace for these next few months! The Milennium!—well, I don’t know!”

      “I do not see how you and your Uncle John ever came to let her go off all alone like that,” Carter said, with a gloom that did not try to mask a terrible reproach; “she’ll be so awfully liable to meet some foreigner over there and—and just marry him.” He threw up his cane as he spoke, intending to rap on the boarding by which they were that instant passing.

      Jack thrust his own cane out quickly and barred the other with an excellent fencing fente.

      “No rapping on wood!” he cried sharply; “not after that speech!—you know!”

      Carter turned two astonished eyes friend-ward.

      “What do you mean?” he asked; “do you mean to say that you’d stand her marrying any one over there for one minute?”

      “Stand it!” said Jack, “would we stand it, did you say? My dear fellow, how plainly you betray the fact that you are in love with Rosina. We—myself and the family—on the contrary, live with her. The difference in the two propositions is too tremendous to be quickly grasped by you even, but it is just about the same distance as that between theory and practice.”

      “Nonsense!” said Carter, with an air of deep annoyance.