"How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. It now came to him with an added thrill how well she had told her story; simply and directly, no skipping, no wandering hither and yon: from the first hour she could remember, to the night she had fled in the proa, a clear sustained narrative. . She looked down tassels of his shiny shoes with a scowl. On this side was a razor with which a son had murdered his father; the blade notched, the haft crusted with blood: on that, a bar of iron, bent, and partly broken, with which a husband had beaten out his wife's brains. He won’t have menservants inside the house, and his collection of carriages is only fit for a museum—where most of his friends ought to be, by-the-bye. Destruction everywhere marked its course. But Miss Miniver was highly unsatisfactory. " This strong feeling of remorse having found a natural vent, in some degree subsided, and he addressed himself to his present situation.
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