In the recess beside the fireplace were some open bookshelves. “Vee!” said Miss Stanley, “you hear what your father says!” Miss Stanley struggled with emotion. Better to remain silent. E. Wood did think of it, and groaned aloud. '" "'This be the verse you grave for me: Here he lies where he longed to be; Home is the sailor, home from the sea. . We shall expect you to tell us all what to wear. How can you say such things? You’re too young to be married, and realize this: you’re not ready. " "Poor soul!—poor soul!" groaned Wood, brushing the tears from his vision. “It was just an hour before teatime,” she remarked. The door popped open with a sigh.
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