might have been treated to the delicious spectacle of a charming middle-aged gentleman in white flannels reading, near a birch fire and a priceless pewter tea-service, to a handsome middle-aged woman in black silk, the following pregnant lines:
“There was an old person of Bow,
Whom nobody happened to know,
So they gave him some soap,
And said coldly, ‘We hope
You will go back directly to Bow!’
And the illustration is worthy of the text,” he added enthusiastically, as he passed the volume to her.
She had no sense of humor, but she had a sense of justice, and it occurred to her that after all an agreement was an agreement. If to listen to insinuating inanities was the price of his attention, she would pay it. She had borne more than this in order to do good.
So the readings continued, a source of
