He’s waiting. “But I am sorry,” she exclaimed. And a ballot-box—” Her face assumed an expression of intellectual conflict. The ball passed over his head, and lodged in the ceiling. She looked at her for a moment fixedly. ” “Dear me,” Anna laughed, “how unfortunate! What ought I to do? Should I be forgiven, do you think, if I were to go and hold that skein of wool for the old lady in the yellow cap?” “Don’t speak of her irreverently,” Brendon said, in an awed whisper. He laughed at her heartily, and she laughed too as she had not for a year. . ‘That’s not much comfort. .
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