Even in this dread moment Ruth was conscious of a pathetic interest in the scattering pencils. "Your answer!" cried Sheppard. “Everything very nice, I am sure,” Miss Stanley murmured to Capes as he steered her to a place upon the little sofa before the fire. “Drive to 13, Montague Street, cabman,” she ordered. Quarter-staves, bludgeons, brown-bills, lanterns, swords, and sconces were alike shivered; and, to judge from the sullied state of their habiliments, the claret must have been tapped pretty freely. They were filthy after the burial. Happily they had no one else to wait for, and it heartened her mightily to think that she had ordered the promptest possible service of the dinner.
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