The sing-song girl, her fiddle broken, was beating her forehead upon the floor and wailing: Ai, ai! Ai, ai! Spurlock—or Taber, as he called himself—sat slumped in a chair, staring with glazed eyes at nothing, absolutely uninterested in the confusion for which he was primarily accountable. Upon a table, where they had been hastily deposited, on the intelligence of Darrell's accident, lay a pair of pink kid gloves, bordered with lace, and an enormous fan; the latter, when opened, represented the metamorphosis and death of Actæon. A faint gleam of returning colour gave her at once a more natural appearance. Lucy crouched by the side of the grave, her head in her hands, rocking back and forth. Some man! And to conclude it all was the figure of her father in the doorway, giving her a last chance, his hat in one hand, his umbrella in the other, shaken at her to emphasize his point. “Would they make her Queen?” She asked innocently. ’ A laugh escaped her. When he was up and about, the idea of flight would return. I must see if I have a gown fit to wear. My father was Colonel Pellissier. ‘You!’ ‘Yes, it is I, mademoiselle,’ he continued in his own tongue. . He haunted a state between hectic dreaming and mild delirium, and she found herself talking aloud to him. She was greatly exercised by the problem of confiding in the Widgetts; they were dears, and she talked away two evenings with Constance without broaching the topic; she made some vague intimations in letters to Miss Miniver that Miss Miniver failed to mark.
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