Why not? Imagine I’ve had a fit of hysteria—and that I’ve come round. Mr. You have been going out every morning, and coming home late—tired out—too tired to come down to dinner. “Where to?” he asked, as the hansom drove up. “Poor little Miniver! What can she be but what she is?. ‘Sleeping like a baby, he is. Somehow to-night—I don’t know. She wanted to scream, but there was no one to scream for. ‘Here we go again. She was inclined to think that perhaps for a girl the converse of his method was the case; an older man, a man beyond the range of anything “nonsensical,” was, perhaps, the most interesting sort of friend one could meet.
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