"So you're writing under a nom de plume, eh?" said McClintock, holding out the letter. ” Anna looked at her sister gravely. She wore a wonderful dress of turquoise blue, made by a great dressmaker for a function which she knew very well now that she would never attend. Anyways, we gets friendly and chats each day, and yesterday I mentions about that Mr Charvill, and the maid ups and says that Frenchie and his missus is going out of town to visit him. She fluttered her eyelashes, and adopted the soulful tone that served her well at times. The uproar was tremendous—men yelling— dogs barking,—but above all was heard the stentorian voice of Jonathan, urging them on. “You and Anna,” she said, “seem to have stumbled upon a mare’s nest. Still, it was true about men.
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