When Mr. "Mr. "I shall want nothing more. Anna picked up an ancient magazine, and began to turn over the pages in a leisurely way. “I want,” he said, with a white hand outstretched, “to take you out to tea. Battle, murder, and sudden death—and an old chap like McClintock tuning his piano in the midst of it. Still, they bob up occasionally. But her mind was ruffled, and its mirror-like surface of satisfaction was not easily restored. “Your father,” he said, “remarked that all’s well that ends well, and that he was disposed to let bygones be bygones.
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