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Sir Adrian did not press the point, and, leaving his guest at liberty to enjoy the couch arranged by René in a corner under the bookshelves, even as when Mademoiselle de Savenaye had been the guest of the peel, himself retired to that now hallowed apartment.

"Perhaps I can find the story," said Wurm, his eye running toward the bookshelves. "Don't bother," said Flint. There was now another speaker Flannel Shirt, as we called him who had once been sated with formal dinners and society, and is now inclined to cry them down. He leans a bit toward socialism and free verse.

I just came down to talk things over with Maggie. I I'm sure I don't know w-what I'm going to do when I can't." "But you always can, dear," soothed Miss Maggie cheerily, handing her visitor a fan and taking a chair near her. Mr. Smith, after a moment's hesitation, turned quietly back to his bookshelves. "But I can't," choked Mrs. Hattie. "I I'm going away." "Away? Where?

"I see," murmured Harley, as the butler showed him into a small but well-filled library on the left of the lobby. Refreshments were set invitingly upon a table beside a deep lounge chair. But Harley declined the man's request to refresh himself while waiting and began aimlessly to wander about the room, apparently studying the titles of the works crowding the bookshelves.

He turned from these to the bookshelves, which seemed to be filled with relegations from the rest of the house children's story-books in tarnished bright covers and dilapidated school-books. He took down one of these latter and examined it absently, with a half-sigh.

But what took Sam's attention more than anything was an open piano, in a shady recess, and on the keys a little fairy white glove. "White kid gloves, eh, my lady?" says Sam; "that don't look well." So he looked through the bookshelves, and, having lighted on "Boswell's Johnson," proceeded into the verandah.

He tried for it several times, and when his hands came against the bookshelves he stopped dead, very much puzzled and quite lost. Felicia found him there, standing still and patiently waiting for the low-boy to materialize in its accustomed place. "Where is it!" he asked her. "It's not there, honey," she said. "We're going to a different house, and it's sent away." "A different house! When?

What a boy turns out for himself, as he rummages the bookshelves, is the real test and pleasure. My father's library was a spot of some austerity; the proceedings of learned societies, some Latin divinity, cyclopaedias, physical science, and, above all, optics, held the chief place upon the shelves, and it was only in holes and corners that anything really legible existed as by accident.

Was it really so bad as that she wondered, with a dim memory that somewhere, back in an obscure corner of her bookshelves, lay his first thin, promising volume published now almost fifteen years ago.

"I can't show you half the things I want to," he said. "It's ridiculous that you should only be here for three days." He would have gone on for ever, and she had to warn him when the clock in the stables struck seven that they had only just time to dress for dinner. On the way upstairs he showed her his new study, with the bookshelves that he had bought in the last holidays.