“What do you think of that farce?” he exclaimed bitterly. It was years before your time. ‘I’ll handle her better alone. What of Gosse, whom those soldiers had allowed to escape? Hiding—or perhaps gone. “Very,” and cracked a walnut appreciatively. " "Oh, dear!" simpered Edgeworth Bess, endeavouring to hide her confusion by looking steadfastly at her plate. Were I a painter of subject pictures, I would exhaust all my skill in proportion and perspective and atmosphere upon the august seat of empire, I would present it gray and dignified and immense and respectable beyond any mere verbal description, and then, in vivid black and very small, I would put in those valiantly impertinent vans, squatting at the base of its altitudes and pouring out a swift, straggling rush of ominous little black objects, minute figures of determined women at war with the universe.
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