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” “You—you did what?” Anna exclaimed. ” Anna gave her address to the driver. David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. ’ ‘Nonsense,’ said Mrs Sindlesham loudly, casting an anxious glance upon Melusine. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. She directed him to an old part of the highway, a featureless stretch of old farmhouses capped in snow, with the occasional working silo. It was his particular hobby, and the leisure he had to apply to it had given him a remarkable appraising eye. Don’t try.

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