Ann Veronica sat firelit by her tea-tray with, quite unconsciously, the air of an expert hostess. “Second class,” said some one, but first and second were all alike to her. She heard her husband’s heavy tread descending the stairs, and the wheels of his carriage as he drove off. The bedding was removed; Mrs. like rabies. So many things she saw that her interest stumbled rather than leaped from object to object. You complain of a condition, but you leave the correction to someone else. “These are the playgrounds of life. And so bitterly did the carpenter reproach himself with his neglect, that he resolved, at all risks, to go back in search of it.
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