ing, and was
prepared to face it; but Mrs. Crane neither reproached him for his
prolonged absence, nor expressed surprise at his return. With true
feminine duplicity, she received him as if nothing had happened. Jasper,
thus relieved, became of his own accord apologetic and explanatory;
evidently he wanted something of Mrs. Crane. "The fact is, my dear
friend," said he, sinking into a chair, "that the day after I last saw
you I happened to go to the General Post Office to see if there were
any letters for me. You smile: you don't believe me. Honour bright,
here they are;" and Jasper took from the side pocket of his coat a
pocket-book, a new pocket-book, a brilliant pocket-book, fragrant
Russian leather, delicately embossed, golden clasps, silken linings,
jewelled pencil-case, malachite pen-knife,--an arsenal of knickknacks
stored in neat recesses; such a pocket-book as no man ever gives to
himself. Sardanapalus would not have given that pocket-book to himself!
Such a pocket-book never comes to you, O enviable Lotharios, save as
tributary keepsakes from the charmers who adore you! Grimly the Adopted
Mother eyed that pocket-book. Never had she seen it before. Grimly she
pinched her lips. Out of this dainty volume--which would have been of
cumbrous size to a slim thread-paper exquisite, but scarcely bulged into
ripple the Atlantic expanse of Jasper Losely's magnificent chest--the
monster drew forth two letters on French paper,--foreign post-marks. He
replaced them quickly, only suffering her eye to glance at the address,
and continued, "Fancy! that purse-proud Grand Turk of an infidel, though
he would not believe me, has been to France,--yes, actually to -----
making inquiries evidently with reference to Sophy. The woman who ought
to have thoroughly converted him took flight, however, and missed seeing
him. Confound her!"

"I ought to have been there. So I have no doubt for the present the
Pagan remains stubborn. Gone on into Italy I hear; doing me, violating
the laws of Nature, and roving about the world, with his own solitary
hands in his bottomless pockets,--like the wandering Jew! But, as
some slight set-off in my run of ill-luck, I find at the post-office a
pleasanter letter than the one which brings me this news. A rich
elderly lady, who has no family, wants to adopt a nice child; will take
Sophy,--make it worth my while to let her have Sophy. 'T is convenient
in a thousand ways to settle one's child comfortably in a