At Fault

When J r me Lafirme died, his neighbors awaited the results of his sudden taking off with indolent watchfulness. It was a matter of unusual interest to them that a plantation of four thousand acres had been left unincumbered to the disposal of a handsome, inconsolable, childless Creole widow of thirty. A b tise of some sort might safely be looked for. But time passing, the anticipated folly failed to reveal itself; and the only wonder was that Th r se Lafirme so successfully followed the methods of her departed husband.