” “And if you are a millionaire like Drummond,” someone remarked, “you send round a note and ask her to come out to supper. "Quilt!—Mendez!—Where are you?" vociferated Wild, sounding his whistle for the third time. Do you know anything of his friends? Is there any one for whom we ought to send?” “I know very little of him beyond his name,” Anna answered. The voices went into his ears but left no impression of their import. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. But there is need for the proof that I am me, and that is what I look for.
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