That she possessed any sense of humour was in itself one of those human miracles which metaphysicians are always pothering over without arriving anywhere; for her previous environment had been particularly humourless. Only an undermaid I was then. She tried surreptitiously to reach her own dagger, in its cunning hiding place in her petticoat. Amongst them was a revolver. She came in now with an air of reserved solicitude. ‘That is good,’ she said with satisfaction, ‘for I was compelled on Saturday to abandon the chase. ” Her hand fell back into her lap. Scarcely any one noticed the full measure of her consternation.
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