‘Monstrously unfair of you, Hilary. Annabel was born soulless, a human butterfly, if ever there was one. I, too, want to understand—to walk with my head in the light. Young and old were dressed in their gayest apparel; and it was evident from the smiles that lighted up every countenance, from the roguish looks of the younger swains, and the demure expression of several pretty rustic maidens, that a ceremony, which never fails to interest all classes,—a wedding,—was about to take place. The tree-lined streets were silent except for the sporadic revving of glass packs down Church Avenue. ‘You said she was beautiful. He’s terrible!” “Dad!” Lucy smiled at John.
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