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. "My good friend, Owen Wood,—Heaven preserve him!—is still living. ’ He sat on the low wall of the haha and invited her to do the same. Listening attentively, he fancied he heard the breathing of some one near him, and moved cautiously in the opposite direction. Austin," continued the tapstress; "he's only going on an errand. ‘Me, I am tout à fait stupide. She tried to compose her thoughts, to think of the last six months, to steep herself in the calm beauty of the surroundings.
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