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"Now you just make your plans to go with the girls, Tuesday night. They can't go alone, and Mrs. Mandel can't go with them." "Pshaw!" said Mela. "We don't want to take Conrad away from his meetun', do we, Chris?" "I don't know," said Christine, in her high, fine voice. "They could get along without him for one night, as father says." "Well, I'm not a-goun' to take him," said Mela. "Now, Mrs.

She made much of the question, which they left her to debate alone while they gazed solemnly at her till she characterized the tone of the mandolin, when Mela broke into a large, coarse laugh. "Well, that's just what it does sound like," she explained defiantly to her sister. "I always feel like it was going to settle somewhere, and I want to hit myself a slap before it begins to bite.

"Pshaw!" said Mela, one morning when she came to breakfast, "I reckon if we was to send up an old card of Mr. Beaton's she'd rattle down-stairs fast enough. If she's sick, she's love-sick. It makes me sick to see her." Mela was talking to Mrs. Mandel, but her father looked up from his plate and listened.

Horn's, they both made their party-call, as Mela said, in due season; but they did not find Mrs. Horn at home, and neither she nor Miss Vance came to see them after people returned to town in the fall. They tried to believe for a time that Mrs. Horn had not got their cards; this pretence failed them, and they fell back upon their pride, or rather Christine's pride.

"The morning you left for the Allahabad MELA," Prafulla told me, "Master dropped heavily on the davenport. "'Yogananda is gone! he cried. 'Yogananda is gone! He added cryptically, 'I shall have to tell him some other way. He sat then for hours in silence." My days were filled with lectures, classes, interviews, and reunions with old friends.

She found this so good when she had said it that she laughed over it till Christine was angry. "A body would think there had never been any joke before." "I don't see as it's a joke," said Mrs. Dryfoos. "It's the plain truth." "Oh, don't mind her, mother," said Mela. "She's put out because her old Mr. Beaton ha'r't been round for a couple o' weeks.

Such was the opinion of Crates, who lived in the time of Alexander; of Aratus, of Cleanthes, of Cleomedes, of Strabo, of Pomponius Mela, of Macrobius, and many others. Hipparchus proposed a different system, and led the world into an error, which for a long time retarded the maritime communication of Europe and India.

Christine watched them with unconcern, and either because she would not be governed by the general movement, or because she liked being with Beaton, gave no sign of going. Mela was still talking to the student of human nature, sending out her laugh in deep gurgles amid the unimaginable confidences she was making him about herself, her family, the staff of 'Every Other Week, Mrs.

Nobody seemed willing to take it up, and Mrs. Dryfoos went on, with an old woman's severity: "I say they ought to be all tarred and feathered and rode on a rail. They'd be drummed out of town in Moffitt." Miss Mela said, with a crowing laugh: "I should think they would! And they wouldn't anybody go low neck to the opera-house there, either not low neck the way they do here, anyway."

One favourite volume was a small octavo edition of the Directorium Inquisitorum, by the Dominican Eymeric de Gironne; and there were passages in Pomponius Mela, about the old African Satyrs and OEgipans, over which Usher would sit dreaming for hours.