She cried and sobbed in fits. He was—a millionaire. Here they were regaled with another plentiful meal by the hospitable carpenter, who personally superintended the repast. “You propose, then,” she remarked, “that I shall still be saddled with a pseudo husband. Oh, the scent of the flowers that day, the delicious quiet, the swallows that dived before us in the river. Melusine giggled, and tucked her hand into his. "Ja, ja, Muntmeester," said the Hollander, shaking his head in reply;—"very bad —very. ” “It’s scandalous, but I suppose it is. What'll we call him—Rollo?"—ironically. Naturally you shout yourself hoarse when she has finished, and feel jolly pleased with yourself. Hurt beyond what he could imagine by the selfishness and pride of her forbears, whose fateful disputes had robbed her of the life she should have led, the plucky little devil had taken matters into her own hands.
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