I  om, occasionally to invite  interested gentlemen to to take a supper er, hear me read. he does so now.

    Make yourself neat tonigo me, as I stand in toning up my gloves. e ss. rey, ranger. I o employ ing of our pictures.

    Our pictures. ts, in a separate study, filled  my uncle ed in a desultory sort of manner, along en spoken of taking on some man to trim and mount t o matcask. One needs a quite particular cer, for  sort.

    cs out rey claims to  for us, besides. An edition of a text alogued.

    t is great news, sir.

    Per my uncle, t mark it. s o to t me see . . .

    May I leave you, Uncle?

    ruck?

    It has, I believe.

    from  c to o , at tem, —s. o —gently, Maud.

    Yes, Uncle.

    No engaged by oo used to ticular rangely, or not at all, and imagines me an ageless cimes t is , tig saso a form I sleap. My uncle  time, I suppose, not quite above fifty—I o ly and permanently aged; as flies remain aged, yet fixed and unchanging, in cloudy chips of amber.

    I leave ing at a page of text. I ly, in soft-soled so my rooms, where Agnes is.

    I find   a piece of seemperament like mine? I stand and co sitc last I take tly put t of it against  off; t it back; times more, until h a rash of needle-pricks.

    to be gentlemen onig. One a stranger. Do you suppose he will be young, and handsome?

    I say it—idly enougeasing. It is noto me. But she hears me, and colours.

    I cant say, miss, surning  drawing her ha