I think we rest here until to-morrow?” There was a brief silence. ” Meddoes turned round from the table on which he was practising shots and shrugged his shoulders. ’ ‘Well, but he was a deserter, you see. Twice he cleaned the old briar; still there was no improvement. In a little while—to-morrow—all these tender, beautiful emotions will pass away, and I'll become what I was yesterday, a cynical, miserly old spinster. We leave England to-night. It was a large, littered, self-forgetful apartment, decorated with unframed charcoal sketches by various incipient masters; and an open bookcase, surmounted by plaster casts and the half of a human skull, displayed an odd miscellany of books—Shaw and Swinburne, Tom Jones, Fabian Essays, Pope and Dumas, cheek by jowl.
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