" "It is," answered Wood. To-night there seemed to be a new brilliancy in her eyes, a deeper quality in her tone. “I suppose you could at least tune it for us if you know how to play. Her husband stared at her over the candle flame. ‘You would like? And do you imagine that I will tell you?’ ‘Won’t you?’ ‘No, a thousand times. Here he halted; and, looking upwards, read, at the foot of an immense sign-board, displaying a gaudily-painted angel with expanded pinions and an olive-branch, not the name he expected to find, but that of WILLIAM KNEEBONE, WOOLLENDRAPER. ‘Yes, do,’ approved Lucilla. ” She tried to plan her proceedings in detail. “I can only repeat what I said before,” she declared.
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