Pramlay received them in the pretty chintz drawing-room, which opened by French windows on the trim garden, with its croquet lawn, its tennis-net in the middle distance, and its remote rose alley lined with smart dahlias and flaming sunflowers. "Si—lence!" vociferated Charcam, laying great emphasis on the last syllable. “You’re self-taught, aren’t you, Lucy?” She looked around the table, all eyes upon her. It had gone with the rest. "What can it matter to you whether he returns or not, child," rejoined Mrs.
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