Lady Lescelles, graceful, very fashionably but quietly dressed, leaned back and watched her with shrewd kindly eyes. . At ninethirty he climbed into the chair and signified to Ah Cum that he was ready. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Some of the lunatics were rattling their chains; some shrieking; some singing; some beating with frantic violence against the doors. To hand the key back in silence was like offering a lie. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. “You must have heard—have you—oh, tell me, won’t you?” she begged.
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