He opened the door for her with a faint disagreeable smile. "There's another instance of your wilfulness and want of taste. . " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. Used to play together, we did, all over Remenham House. Having disposed of his steed and swallowed a glass of brandy, without taking any other refreshment, he threw himself on a couch, where he sank at once into a heavy slumber. People sat in unusual pews, and a wide margin of hassocky emptiness intervened between the ceremony and the walls. From the first there had always been between her and her listeners that electrical sympathy which only a certain order of genius seems able to create.
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