“We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. “Why did you do it?” her aunt urged. Gentlemen, I am proud to say that I originated—that I directed those measures. Come into the parlour, Winifred, and dry your eyes directly, or I'll send you to bed. ’ She let out a peal of laughter. She felt a hysterical desire to strike him, to burst out crying, to blurt out the whole miserable truth. ‘Very well, never mind. “Dear me! I wonder what I ought to do. Lucy’s cool.
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