" "Entreat a fiddlestick!" retorted Mrs. ‘I broke in. It is like some accident. Jack Kimble nodded eagerly. ” He paused and looked at her, and said, with a sudden drop into a confidential undertone, “Or else I want to pray. " "Somebody coming?" "Yes. They had not so far been of much personal interest to Gerald, but tonight was different. ” Somewhat irrelevantly he glanced at the next few boxes where the rest of Mrs. ’” She played “If I Were a Rich Man,” adding syrupy trills and flourishes at every phrase. There was the cottage she had inhabited for so many years,—in those fields she had rambled,—at that church she had prayed. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. ‘Quick, Gérard. Ramage,” she said, sharply, “I have to make it plain to you. We’re the hysterical animal, Mr.
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