In the distance a barrel-organ was grinding out a pot pourri of popular airs. Ed. “I am not sure,” Anna answered. “It’s THE Society!” said Miss Miniver. Yet her aunt, with a ringed hand flitting to her lips and a puzzled, worried look in her eyes, deaf to all this riot of warmth and flitting desire, was playing Patience—playing Patience, as if Dionysius and her curate had died together. " "Take time to consider of it," replied Wood sulkily, "there's no hurry. Which is C?” Ann Veronica, with a curious sinking of the heart, regarded the black cavities of the vans. Lucilla clearly adored her betrothed, anyone could see that. At the same moment a martial flourish, proceeding from cow's horns, tin canisters filled with stones, bladders and cat-gut, with other sprightly, instruments, was struck up, and, enlivened by this harmonious accompaniment, the troop reached its destination in the best possible spirits for an encounter. .
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