Did you ever hate a man?'

   I threw out my arms. My heart was full of bitterness.

   'He did more! He has refused to pay my last quarter's salary. Basil, didn't you ever hate a man?'

   My brain reeled at these repeated outrages.

   'And where are you staying at present, Philippa? I hope you are pretty comfortable?' I inquired, anxiously.

   Philippa went on: 'My husband as was has chucked me. I was about to have a baby. I bored him. I was in the way—in the family-way. Basil, did you ever hate a fellow? If not, read this letter.'

   She threw a letter towards me. She chucked it with all her old gracious dexterity. It was dated from Monte Carlo, and ran thus:—

   'As we don't seem quite to hit it off, I think I may as well finish this business of our marriage. The shortest way to make things clear to your very limited intelligence is to assure you that you are not my wife at all. Before I married you I was the husband of the Live Mermaid. She has died since then, and I might have married you over and over again; but I was not quite so infatuated. I shall just run across and settle up about this little affair on Wednesday. As you are five miles from the station, as the weather is perfectly awful, as moreover I am a luxurious, self-indulgent baronet and as this story would never get on unless I walked, don't send to meet me. I would

    rather

   walk.'

   Here was a pretty letter from a fond husband. 'But, ha! proud noble,' I whispered to my heart, 'you and me shall meet to-morrow.'

   'And where are you staying, Philippa?' I repeated, to lead the conversation into a more agreeable channel.

   'With a Mrs. Thompson,' she replied; 'a lady connected with Sir Runan.'

   'Very well, let me call for your things tomorrow. I can pass myself off as your brother, you know.'

   'My half-brother,' said Philippa, blushing, 'on the mother's side.'

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