e me.”

    “t proves not. Only,” s doesn’t seem to ter examine modern literature next. Liz, it’s your turn.”

    Elizabet in order to prosecute aken for a reviewer.

    “I ty steadily for t five years,” said s popular living er; tt; ton Makenzie; Mr. McKenna and Mr. alpole may be bracketed toget down.

    “But you’ve told us notulated. “Or do you mean t tlemen ly surpassed Jane–Elliot and t Englision is—w review of yours? Oheir hands.’”

    “Safe, quite safe,” sing uneasily from foot to foot. “And I’m sure t they receive.”

    e . “But,” we pressed e good books?”

    “Good books?” s t remember,” sreme rapidity, “t fiction is t deny t education is of t importance, and t it remely annoying, if you found yourself alone at Brige at nig to knoay at, and suppose it  it be nice to go to the Movies?”

    “But  to do ?” we asked.

    “Notever,” she replied.

    “ell, tell us truth,” we bade her.

    “trut isn’t it er ten a icle for t ty years upon love or  buttered toast and  all o Eton—”

    “truth!” we demanded.

    “Orutammered, “truto do erature,” and sitting doher word.

    It all seemed to us very inconclusive.

    “Ladies,  try to sum up ts,” Jane he open window, drowned her voice.

    “ar! ar! ar! Declaration of ar!” men reet below.

    e looked at eacher in horror.

    “ oo late, t o tten all about it. e turned to Poll, en us.

    “o war?”

    “Sometimes for one reason, sometimes for anots outside drorians in 1866–18