CHAPTER IX. Mr. "You base ingrate," she added, in a whisper, as she flounced past Mr. She was gone. Outside the post-office stood a nohatted, blond young man in gray flannels, who was elaborately affixing a stamp to a letter. But there's a person in the hall—a very odd sort of man—waiting to see him, who won't be sent away. You are not unlike Pandora. Determined, however, to conquer the feeling as soon as possible, Wood had given orders to have the evening meal served there; but, notwithstanding all his good resolutions upon his first entrance, he had much ado to maintain his self-command. ” “But does it correspond with the facts of the case? You know, Mr. “Dear John,” she whispered.
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