What was the old tabby at? Unaccountably embarrassed, he cleared his throat. I asked him why, and he hadn’t a reason. That is very bad indeed. At Morningside Park I feel as though all my growing up was presently to stop, as though I was being shut in from the light of life, and, as they say in botany, etiolated. 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. If she mentioned Ramage he might have a fit—anything might happen. I believe that his recovery was considered almost miraculous.
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