‘Go and fetch her home,’ he said; ‘it isn’t what we thought! It’s just a practical joke of hers. They proved all sorts of things perhaps, but they were thick, unequal, pitiful pieces of work. She leaned back in the cab with half-closed eyes. The girl’s gaze met his in interested inquiry. Bribble’s rendering of the service —he had the sort of voice that brings out things—and was still teeming with ideas about it when finally a wild outburst from the organ made it clear that, whatever snivelling there might be down in the chancel, that excellent wind instrument was, in its Mendelssohnian way, as glad as ever it could be. “Your friend, “DAVID COURTLAW. It’s no good flying out at that, Vee; I didn’t arrange it. " "Bah!" returned the woollen-draper. “Thank God,” he exclaimed.
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