Under happier circumstances nothing would have given me more pleasure than to have offered you a home with your sister. “How did you find me?” She asked. ’ Her lashes fluttered. They must have a key. The delight of the turnkeys was beyond all bounds; but poor Mrs. That’s the wonder of it. . 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. " "A novelist?" cried Ruth, thrilling.
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