thought of confession; his mind itched to be freed of its burden.
"Oh no, we were too busy," he laughed uneasily. "The fact is, you see, Letty dear—I have a confession to make
She regarded him inquiringly, even anxiously. He had taken the leap without his own knowledge; the words refused to frame upon his tongue. Of a sudden the impulse fled, screaming for its life, and he was brought up, breathless and scared, upon the brink of a giddy precipice.
"What confession, darling?" she asked in a voice which showed some fear.
The current of his ideas stopped in full flow; where a hundred explanations should have rushed about his brain, he could find not one poor lie for use.
"What do you mean, dearest?" said his wife, her face straightened with anxiety.
Farrell paled and flushed warm. "Oh nothing, my darling child," he said with a hurried laugh; "we played baccarat."
"George!" she cried reproachfully. "How could you, when you had promised?"
"I don't know," he stumbled on feverishly. "I was weak, I suppose, and they wanted it, and—God knows I've never done it before, since I promised, Letty," be broke off sharply.
The girl said nothing at the moment, but sat staring at the table-cloth, and then reached out a hand and touched his tremulous fingers.
"There, there, dear boy," she murmured soothingly, "I won't be cross; only please, please, don't break your word again."
"No, I won't, I won't," muttered the man.
"I daresay it was hard, but it cost you your train, George, and you were punished by losing my society for one whole night. So
