CHAPTER XXIV Spurlock's novel was a tale of regeneration. But, not daring to confess his want of comprehension, he made a profound reverence, and retired. "You cannot understand me, Madam; and it is well you cannot. These persons were Mr. “I did not,” Anna answered. “I’ll bring it to-morrow. “I haven’t seen the new Patience, dear,” she said. ‘Pen and paper, do you have them?’ ‘Danged if I have,’ came the truculent response. Hitherto it had been qualified by her conception of all life as a compromise, by her new effort to be unexacting of life. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. ‘That’s just it.
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