"I can't help how things fall out," said Troy; "upon my heart, women will be the death of me!"
"Well, you shouldn't keep people's hair. You'll burn it, won't you, Frank?"
Frank went on as if he had not heard her. "There are considerations even before my consideration for you; reparation to be made-ties you know nothing of. If you repent of marrying, so do I."
Trembling now, she put her hand upon his arm, saying, in mingled tones of wretchedness and coaxing, "I only repent it if you don't love me better than any woman in the world. I don't otherwise, Frank. You don't repent because you already love somebody better than you love me, do you?"
"I don't know. Why do you say that?"
"You won't burn that curl. You like the woman who owns that pretty hair—yes; it is pretty—more beautiful than my miserable black mane! Well, it is no use; I can't help being ugly. You must like her best, if you will!"
"Until to-day, when I took it from a drawer, I have never looked upon that bit of hair for several months—that I am ready to swear."
"But just now you said 'ties;' and then-that woman we met?"
"'Twas the meeting with her that reminded me of the hair."
