Pramlay lived for amenities and the mellowed surfaces of things. It was Sunday evening—a soft delicious evening, and, from the happy, cheerful look of the house, none would have dreamed of the dismal tragedy so lately acted within its walls. On his way he made a slight divergence from the direct route and paused for a moment outside the flat where Anna was now living. Their laughter, together with the agonized yowling of the dog, drew a circle of wondering natives; and at length McClintock himself came over to see what the racket was about. Stanley. "Why, this is your writing Dolly, and addressed to Mr.
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