That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. There was something about their greeting and the tone of Annabel’s exclamation which puzzled her. “Mr. Madame shrugged. In her little sitting-room she turned on the electric light and looked around half fearfully. One of your aunts died, I believe, and the other removed to London. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Mary Lucia was branded “the earliest riser and the best at keeping up with her chores” by the formidable Sisters at the orphanage. The pause lengthened, and he had the satisfaction of seeing despair melt the set mockery of Spurlock's mouth. “Only four spoonsful left,” she declared briskly, “and your turn to buy the next pound, Sydney.
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