" She smiled, and returned to the spinsters. She was looking about her, and her face was dark with anger. The hand which the man had been holding hung limp and nerveless at her side. ‘I am not a person, Marthe. My name is Wild— Jonathan Wild. I have been in torment all the while to know whether it was to Anna or to Annabel that you were making love so charmingly. . She handled it half fearfully, and set it carefully down again. She got up, put the neat cuffs she had made into her work-basket, and went to the bureau for the little cards in the morocco case. My politics in that matter wouldn’t be to give women votes. Shortly afterwards,—it seemed an age to the anxious mother,—Mr. “You poor little girl!” he cried.
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