Instead, she laughed, laughed with lips and eyes, laughed till the tears ran down her cheeks. I’m going to that stupid party at the Vorsack’s to get to the bottom of it. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. A bobbing lantern, crossing the bridge—for she had not drawn the curtain—attracted her attention. ” They loitered under trees, they sat on mossy banks they gossiped on friendly benches, they came back to lunch at the “Star and Garter,” and talked their afternoon away in the garden that looks out upon the crescent of the river. “I do mean that,” she declared. Her evident terror and distress reinforced the tale he told. .
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