She and Courtlaw drove homewards together. " "Hear me, Madam, I beseech you," interposed Mrs. ‘I am not a fool. ” He resumed, after a mouthful: “Here is a girl of sixteen or seventeen, seventeen and a half to be exact, running about, as one might say, in London. He took into his soul some of the father's misery, some of the daughter's, to mingle with his own. " Still the voice was without emotion; calm, colourless. Now he thought she was so foolish that she knew only one stroke. He was a civil servant of some standing, and after a previous conversation upon aesthetics of a sententious, nebulous, and sympathetic character, he had sent her a small volume, which he described as the fruits of his leisure and which was as a matter of fact rather carefully finished verse.
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