"So I think," replied Kneebone, again applying to the snuff-box, and by that means escaping the angry glance levelled at him by his companion. Wish SHE”—he indicated Miss Klegg’s back with a nod—“was at the bottom of the sea. His eyes were bright, and his voice had in it an unaccustomed timbre. A time may come when this little chap will need my aid, and, depend upon it, he shall never want a friend in Owen Wood. ” “What ball?” The question was rhetorical. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged. If you were ten years younger, you'd have me wondering. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. "It was silly.
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