David Courtlaw—Sir John Ferringhall. We are the species, and maternity is our game; that’s all right, but nobody wants that admitted for fear we should all catch fire, and set about fulfilling the purpose of our beings without waiting for further explanations. “We must go. . ” “I sent a telegram, aunt,” said Ann Veronica. May I do so to-day?” “It’s your gate,” she said, amiably; “you got it first. Something seemed awry. ‘But you said she was looking for proof. That capitaine has arranged it all. What does it matter? It is here, and it is here to stay.
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