Drink this!” He poured out a glass of wine with a firm hand, and held it to her lips. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. Captain Hilary Roding and his inamorata, Miss Lucilla Froxfield. There is no poison that would affect her. And now take away those cards, and never let me see them again. Perhaps I ought not to; but this isn't a case to fiddle-faddle over. He had plugged along, if not happy, at least with sound philosophy.
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