O'Higgins struck a match and lit his Henry Clay, thereby drawing upon himself the mutual disapproval of the spinsters. “A number of beautiful things are not intense. Perhaps," she added, in a whisper, as she appropriated the beforenamed article, "he has a pocket-book. ‘She wants you. To such characters, fine actions are in themselves sufficient. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. The boiling under her stern, however, told him nothing. “John, of course I forgive you if it is what you need from me. Mac would have some new yarns to spin and a fresh turn-over to his celebrated liver. She had thought it a mirror, because it was her.
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