any rate,” answered Mr. Barrow, quite snappishly, “it would have been much better if there never had been any.”
“Any diamond mines?” ejaculated Miss Minchin, catching at the back of a chair and feeling as if a splendid dream was fading away from her.
“Diamond mines spell ruin oftener than they spell wealth,” said Mr. Barrow. “When a man is in the hands of a very dear friend and is not a businessman himself, he had better steer clear of the dear friend’s diamond mines, or gold mines, or any other
she might see the little servant again somewhere, but she found no trace of her when she got into the hall.
“Who is that little girl who makes the fires?” she asked Mariette that night.
Mariette broke forth into a flow of description.
Ah, indeed, Mademoiselle Sara might well ask. She was a forlorn