’ Saling coughed. All three, then, burst into an immoderate fit of laughter. “You asked me in to tea,” he protested. Her efforts were vain. Instinctively she had fallen into the posture of the poster, her hands behind her, her head bent slightly forward, her chin uplifted, her eyes bright with the drollery of the song. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. Return, I implore of you, to your master,—to Mr.
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