When I saw her again, she had some news for me.
"I have been with Ambrose," she said, "and he has begged my pardon.

We have made it up, Mr.Lefrank.

Still--still--" "Still--_what_, Miss Naomi ?" "He is not like himself, sir.

He denies it; but I can't help thinking he is hiding something from me." The day wore on; the evening came.

I returned to my French novel.