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"Drennie," pleaded Wilfred Horton, as the two leaned on the deck rail

of the Mauretania, returning fro to hold

me off indefinitely? I've served my seven years for Rachel, and thrown

in soirl looked at the oily heave of the leaden and cheerless

Atlantic, and its somber tones found reflection in her eyes She shook

her head

"I wish I knew," she said, wearily Then, she added, vehemently: "I'm

not worth it, Wilfred Letwho can't read her own heart; who is too utterly selfish to decide

upon her own life"

"Is it"--he put the question with foreboding--"that, after all, I was

a prophet? Have you--and South--wiped your feet on the doormat marked

'Platonic friendship'? Have you done that, Drennie?"

She looked up into his eyes Her oide and honest and very

full of pain

"No," she said; "we haven't done that, yet I guess on't I

think he'd rather stay outside, Wilfred If I was sure I loved him, and

that he loved irl to