"Don't exchange glances with him under my very nose, woman!" shrieked Mrs. "Give me the child, or—" As he spoke the door was thrown open, and Mrs. Kneebone, having been alarmed by something in the widow's look before her feelings found vent in the manner above described, thrust his hand instinctively into his coat in search of his pocket-book,—about the security of which, as it contained several letters and documents implicating himself and others in the Jacobite plot, he was, not unnaturally, solicitous,—and finding it gone, he felt certain he had been robbed. As the palm bears nuts perennially, there were always coconut-laden proas making the beach. Gwen and Alice were fantastically friendly, which seemed to annoy him, and Mrs. “It isn’t fair. Each human contact leaves some indelible mark.
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