It's a bad omen to be thrown near that door. From a bi-secting street came shouting and music. Vexation at his folly in suffering himself to be thus entrapped kept Wood for a short time silent. . On the floor was a handkerchief, a little morsel of lace. The young man looked at her. As she went on, the story began to sound more and more like a recitation. Waving a white flag, naturally. It moved a trifle, stepping back and lifting an arm to rub the sleeve against the glass. It was maddening to be made to feel that he was in any way the inferior of this cool, self-possessed young woman, whose eyes seemed for a moment to scintillate with scorn. His father spoke for him. And, if I'd my own way, I'd drown 'em all like a litter o' puppies. I shall lose my fees and the laced coat.
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