It had been touched to the quick by that muscular little feminist, Fyne.

"I! I! Take advantage of her helplessness.

I! Unfair to that creature--that wisp of mist, that white shadow homeless in an ugly dirty world.

I could blow her away with a breath," he was saying to himself with horror.

"Never!" All the supremely refined delicacy of tenderness, expressed in so many fine lines of verse by Carleon Anthony, grew to the size of a passion filling with inward sobs the big frame of the man who had never in his life read a single one of those famous sonnets singing of the most highly civilized, chivalrous love, of those sonnets which.