" "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. There are no funerals among the poor, only burials. CHAPTER VIII. Gerald frowned. How are you?” “I’m fine,” she said, unaware of all events except for the voice on the other line. Just what in the world was that about? Before he could hazard a guess, Lucy looked back at him. By this time, she had so far succeeded in calming herself, that she answered the greetings of the neighbours whom she encountered on her way to the sacred edifice—if sorrowfully, still composedly. Ann Veronica could at the same time ask herself what this queer old gentleman could have meant by speaking to her, and know—know in general terms, at least—what that accosting signified. It had certainly caused some havoc in the uninhabited mansion, chewing through Holland covers to get at the furniture beneath, and knocking down a fire guard and a couple of wooden stands. He took his social pleasures once a year in Hong-Kong, after Easter. Besides, you cannot tell where it will end.
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