’ ‘And was not she put out?’ demanded Miss Froxfield with a tinkling laugh. It was hard to part with romance, but she had never thirsted so keenly to go on with her University work in her life as she did that day. It was a boy baby cooing in swaddling clothes, a baby who had just been born to the butcher's servant across the alley, the maid Isobella who trailed behind, beaming. She liked the high, easy swing of the thing over its big wheels, the quick clatter-patter of the horse, the passage of the teeming streets. ” “It gives in a nutshell the miracle of art and the imagination. Do you mind talking to some one else. "I shall like to call you that.
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