” Lucy said with concern. Her father’s ideas of expostulation were a little harsh and forcible, and over the claret-colored table-cloth and under the gas chandelier, with his hat and umbrella between them like the mace in Parliament, he and his daughter contrived to have a violent quarrel. When I think of it—” “But these are things I want to tell you now!” “I made a little song of it. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. ‘Ah, non,’ exclaimed the husband. He was mad. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. “Here’s something rather good,” he said, and with a start and an effort she took his place at the microscope, while he stood beside her and almost leaning over her. ' He muttered it continually.
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