’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. Burn your palette and your easel. I pray, Anna, that you may find your happiness. “I WILL be arrested! I WON’T go home!” the little old lady was screaming over and over again. It seemed to show a want of affection, to be a deliberate and unmerited disregard, to justify the reprisal of being hurt. "But your threats won't prevent my leaving the room when I please, and as I please. "I am perhaps exceeding my authority in demanding so slight a sum," continued Jonathan, modestly, "and the Master of the Mint may not be disposed to let you off so lightly.
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