They went on talking in the train—it seemed to her father a slight want of deference to him—and he listened and pretended to read the Times. Ray Plote was most certainly feeling restless, what if he had left the house for the evening? She needed to eat. "What good would it do you to destroy me? For I have courage to kill myself. —What do you know of Thames?— Where is he?" "Don't agitate yourself, dearest girl," rejoined the woollen-draper; "or I shall never be able to commence my relation. ” He fell back in his chair with an expression of tremendous desolation.
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