It rained slightly, and a thick mist gathered in the air, and obscured the beautiful prospect. You are not playing to-night, are you?” “Not to-night,” she answered. “Didn’t you know he was married?” asked Miss Klegg, and was struck by a thought that made her glance quickly at her companion. He felt he was human wisdom prudentially interpolated. Visible underneath his collar were some metal tags. “MY DEAR VERONICA,—Your aunt tells me you have involved yourself in some arrangement with the Widgett girls about a Fancy Dress Ball in London. ‘Let it fall!’ ‘Brute!’ she spat, struggling, and he knew at once he had guessed aright. “It—it—must come,” she faltered.
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