“I supposed that he took off his hat to you. You know I call that positively wicked. “MY DEAR GIRL,— “I am so sorry if we made asses of ourselves to-night. Anna turned round with a start, which was almost of guilt, the poker still in her hand. "What's the matter?" demanded Jonathan, harshly. Sheppard had been interred. We'll turn the tables upon 'em yet. “Perhaps for me,” she added, with a sudden wistful look out of the bare high window, “a night of beginnings. Her concluding paragraph was, on the whole, perhaps, hardly starchy enough. Ann Veronica had come to the Imperial College obsessed by the great figure of Russell, by the part he had played in the Darwinian controversies, and by the resolute effect of the grim-lipped, yellow, leonine face beneath the mane of silvery hair.
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