“Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. "Ah! traitor!" cried Jack, pulling the trigger of his pistol. I——” She threw herself into an easy chair. But I expect him back every minute. Great vistas of history opened, and she and her aunt were near reverting to the primitive and passionate and entirely indecorous arboreal—were swinging from branches by the arms, and really going on quite dreadfully—when their arrival at the Palsworthys’ happily checked this play of fancy, and brought Ann Veronica back to the exigencies of the wrappered life again. "God in Heaven bless you, unhappy boy!" cried. The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. I shall barely be in time for the theatre.
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