Kathleen

g, he bore within his hardy breast certain delicacies, remorses, doubts, and revulsions. But all these were

ghts along the pavement still burned pale and white. Just as the Rhodes Scholar passed number 302 he saw a feminine figure run down the steps of a house fifty yards farther on, cross the pavement, and drop a letter into the red pillar box standing

ad the letter which had just dropped into the post-box. Perhaps it will some

ANCROF

y Aft

R J

y placid house. Never again will I complain to

d since then everything has been perfectly a

ccer I can't conceive. I supposed it was a mistake for hockey, or else some kind of a twit. Well, I couldn't see what

were off your crumpet. Why on earth should you send us another cook when you know Ethel has been here for so long? I read the wire forward and backward but it could mean nothing el

nd who do you suppose from? The Bishop of Oxford if you please! Dad was so flustered (you know how telegrams excite him: they offend all his antiquarian instincts!)-well, the Bishop s

used to know the Bishop well-in fact, he dedicated his book to him. "Quite all right, my dear," Dad kept saying

d it prove to be but your friend Mr. Blair, who had been quite put out of our minds by the later telegrams. So Dad sat down r

fectly mad message to Fred, about hurting your leg at soccer and all the rest of it. This convinced us th

ay, so we simply suspected some deep-laid tw

ng, turns up this Eliza Thick person of yours, with a note from Ethel to say that she was sick but that her friend Eliza would see us through for a day or so. Well, you surely have a queer eye for picking out dome

to Mr. Blair not to come for luncheon, the house was so upset. We heard a fearful uproar in the lower regions this afterno

t favourite curate of the Bishop's, too. I think I shall have to stay down in the kitchen to se

in that nothing happ

ur

HLE