“You must do more than think of it,” he urged. Her soft brown eyes, inherited from Larry, warmed an already pretty face. He shivered and looked behind as he stepped into his hansom. If he adhered to this policy—to keep away from her inconspicuously—she would forget the name by night, and to-morrow even the bearer of it would sink below the level of recollection. " "You do not remember me, I dare say," observed the stranger. Still, I'm glad she didn't accept my invitation to join us. “Neither Sydney nor I would think of such a thing. You are the High Priestess of Life. ” She stopped short.
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