‘Damnation! Too late. "My horse has had a fall," replied Jack, assuming to perfection—for he was a capital mimic,—the tones of Quilt Arnold. With one or two exceptions, there were no pews; and, as the intercourse with London was then but slight, the seats were occupied almost exclusively by the villagers. Lucy looked at her reflection with a measure of awe. Then suddenly with a rush came reality, came “growing up”; a hasty imperative appeal for seriousness, for supreme seriousness. She wanted to know. Then began expostulations, preluded by a telegram and headed by her aunt. He’s dead. ‘Wait! No time for that. ’ Charvill eyed the girl with resentment.
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