“I looked for you on the way home from The Big Apple, where were you?” Lucy smiled. A man's laced hat,—whether adopted from the caprice of the moment, or habitually worn, we are unable to state,—cocked knowingly on her head, harmonized with her masculine appearance. A day will come when you will thank me. Her hand grasped it firmly, and she pushed herself forward. The eyes, too, though large and bright, and shaded by long lashes, seemed to betoken, as hazel eyes generally do in men, a faithless and uncertain disposition. The two young fools laughed until they cried. She had not thought anything could equal her despair at that moment.
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