" Lady Trafford sighed deeply. But of what use to wear it when there was no one of importance to see and admire? ‘For shame, Melusine,’ protested Lucy, as the butler bowed himself out of the room. " The Wastrel rushed. She visited the corner that had been her own little garden—her forget-me-nots and candytuft had long since been elbowed into insignificance by weeds; she visited the raspberry-canes that had sheltered that first love affair with the little boy in velvet, and the greenhouse where she had been wont to read her secret letters. They had not to tarry long. She flew to the door, but returned the next minute, looking deeply disappointed, and bringing the intelligence that it was "only Mrs.
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