A girl—at my age—is grown-up. The shouts of indignation—the frightful yells now raised baffle description. "I can't tell you!" she replied, blushing deeply, and clinching her little hand as tightly as possible; "it's a secret!" "I'll soon find it out, then," he returned, playfully forcing the paper from her grasp. I know nothing about this affair, but some one has been burning documents. Lady Palsworthy was the widow of a knight who had won his spurs in the wholesale coal trade, she was of good seventeenth-century attorney blood, a county family, and distantly related to Aunt Mollie’s deceased curate. He waved an arm and spoke with a peculiar resonance. "What for?" demanded Wood. ” She sat very still.
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