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They dropped Sophia at her own door, but Lord Borrodaile said he would take Vida home. They drove along in silence. When they stopped before the tall house in Queen Anne's Gate, Vida held out her hand. 'It's late. I won't ask you in. 'You are over-tired. Go to bed. 'I wish I could. I'm dining out. He looked at her out of kind eyes. 'It begins to be dreadfully stuffy in town.

"I wish it above all things to go on with my work here, and a new church is so much needed. How strange that you should be willing to stay, and that we can work together! Oh, Vida! I prayed with faith, I thought but I never dreamed of an hour like this; surely 'It has not entered into our hearts to conceive the things which God has prepared for them that love Him in this life."

'Oh, it's on your account, is it? he grumbled, but the edge had gone out of his ill-humour. 'I suppose you have to keep up with politics or you couldn't keep the ball rolling as you did last night? 'Yes, said Vida, with an innocent air. 'It is well known what superhuman efforts we have to make before we can qualify ourselves to talk to men. 'Hm! grumbled Fox-Moore.

'If ladies wants to be safe, said number one, 'they'd better stop in their 'omes. 'That's the first rude policeman I ever began Mrs. Fox-Moore, as they went on. 'Well, you know he's only echoing what we all say. Vida was looking over the crowd to where on the plinth of the historic column the little group of women and a solitary man stood out against the background of the banners.

Carol had avoided exposing her plans to Vida Sherwin. She was shy of the big-sister manner; Vida would either laugh at her or snatch the idea and change it to suit herself. But there was no other hope. When Vida came in to tea Carol sketched her Utopia. Vida was soothing but decisive: "My dear, you're all off. I would like to see it: a real gardeny place to shut out the gales.

She sat and waited. She listened for the door-bell, the telephone. Her eagerness was stilled. Her hands drooped. Surely Vida Sherwin would hear the summons. She glanced through the bay-window. Snow was sifting over the ridge of the Howland house like sprays of water from a hose. The wide yards across the street were gray with moving eddies. The black trees shivered.

Here Vida observed, "Yes well Do you know, I've always thought that Ray would have made a wonderful rector. He has what I call an essentially religious soul. My! He'd have read the service beautifully! I suppose it's too late now, but as I tell him, he can also serve the world by selling shoes and I wonder if we oughtn't to have family-prayers?"

If not, O Lord, remove me hence!" The "Athenaeum", Oct. 26, 1853. The account of St. Patrick's Purgatory given by Luis Enius in this long narrative is taken immediately from the seventh, eighth, and ninth chapters of Montalvan's "Vida y Purgatorio de San Patricio", which, as already stated, are themselves a translation from the "Florilegium Insulae Sanctorum" of Messingham.

She bought a rosary, but she had been so bitterly reared as a Protestant that she could not bring herself to use it. Yet none of her intimates in the school and in the boarding-house knew of her abyss of passion. They said she was "so optimistic." When she heard that Kennicott was to marry a girl, pretty, young, and imposingly from the Cities, Vida despaired.

Aside from the vulgarity Some ways, Vida is my best friend. Even if she HAD said it. Which, as a matter of fact, she didn't." He reared up his thick shoulders, in absurd pink and green flannelette pajamas. He sat straight, and irritatingly snapped his fingers, and growled: "Well, if she didn't say it, let's forget her. Doesn't make any difference who said it, anyway.