But the letter, written in his son’s own hand, and addressed to the Mother Abbess of the Convent of the Sisters of Wisdom near Blaye in the district of Santonge, dated a little over five years previously, exercised a powerful effect upon him. As a matter of fact it isn’t their affair. " "'Sblood!" exclaimed Wild, uneasily. ” He dabbed with his paper-weight again, and spoke in an entirely indifferent tone. . ” He replied. ’ For the moment I thought it was a telegram from Gwen. That will be a fine day—it will have to be, when first you set eyes on Italy.
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