"I should think so," responded the lethargic turnkey, with a yawn. He left his companion in the midst of a glowing eulogy of Bastien Leparge, and boldly intercepted his hostess as she moved from one group to join another. I was—I was a corespondent. All this— the island and its affairs—was an old story; but her own peculiar distaste had vanished to a point imperceptible, for she was seeing the island through her husband's eyes, as in the future she would see all things. I’m anxious, joyfully anxious, like a man when he has found a treasure. “I am dying to renew my acquaintance with London, Mrs. Lucy savored the normalcy of the scene.
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