"Woman, your wits are fled!" And so it seemed; for all the answer she could make was to murmur distractedly, "I can't find the key. She had gained respect all about town with news of her fine marriage, and her reputation as a beauty was expanding. It was the beginning of June. Winifred screamed. Day after day—five, to be exact—she had returned to Morgan's; and each time the man would understand what had drawn her, and with a kindly smile would sit down at the piano and play. The gallows has groaned for him for years. "Well, he won't do that here.
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