A young man was playing the banjo. ‘Certainly this is true,’ she managed. What gave the puzzling twist to an ordinary situation was her manner: she was guileless. For that such a man does not mind about the dowry, he must be in love en désespoir. He looked at it with uplifted eyebrows, but made no remark. The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. Anna raised her eyes. " "Execrable villain!" exclaimed Jack. “We don’t pretend.
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