versation had already made an impression on his susceptible spirit.
The Reverend Doctor Gaster seated himself in the corner of a sofa near Miss Philomela Poppyseed. Miss Philomela detailed to him the plan of a very moral and aristocratical novel she was preparing for the press, and continued holding forth, with her eyes half shut, till a long-drawn nasal tone from the reverend divine compelled her suddenly to open them in all the indignation of surprise. The cessation of the hum of her voice awakened the reverend gentleman, who lifting up first one eyelid, then the other, articulated, or rather murmured, "Admirably planned, indeed!"
"I have not quite finished, Sir," said Miss Philomela, bridling. "Will you have the goodness to inform me where I left off?"
The Doctor hummed a while, and at length
