Capes stood side by side upon an old Persian carpet that did duty as a hearthrug in the dining-room of their flat and surveyed a shining dinner-table set for four people, lit by skilfully-shaded electric lights, brightened by frequent gleams of silver, and carefully and simply adorned with sweet-pea blossom. The fellow is little better than a lunatic. He tries hard to conceal it, but he cannot. " "You'd better hold your peace, my lad," observed Jonathan, in a menacing tone. " And before she could be prevented, she lifted up the cloth, and disclosed Shotbolt. All at once he saw a way out of the threatening doldrums. You see, I—I am a woman worshipper.
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