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The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. “Your little flag of pride must flutter down with the rest of them, Ann Veronica. No more did she offer her forehead for the good-night kiss. I want to make you feel that here is a place where the crowd does not clamor nor ill-winds blow. Death belongs to God, young man. "I eat for both. Only last night she saw me, and there was horror in her eyes. But, alas! Ah Cum shrugged philosophically. “A man can smoke, a man can swear; A man scores always, everywhere. "I don't understand you, gentlemen," stammered he, at length. Stanley, putting his hands on the table in the manner rather of a barrister than a solicitor, and regarding her balefully through his glasses with quite undisguised animosity, asked, “And may I presume to inquire, then, what you mean to do?—how do you propose to live?” “I shall live,” sobbed Ann Veronica. Remarking that they struck off at a turning on the left, he took the same road, and soon found himself on Paddington-Green. “And that only brings me up to about sixty-five! “A glittering wilderness of time That to the sunset reaches No keel as yet its waves has ploughed Or gritted on its beaches. "I believe I'll tear them up. As she started, rearing up her head, a hand stole about her mouth and closed down hard.

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