Kneebone assumed a mysterious air; and bringing his lips close to Mrs. He was nearly wincing. 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. . . ’ The woman shrugged helpless shoulders, looking to her husband. “Are you a special sort of clergyman,” she said, after a pause, and looking down her nose at him, “or do you go to the Universities?” “Oh!” he said, profoundly. He was braver than her husband, who paced and cowered in the corners of the once-sunny Palazzo. The door closed upon her, and he moved reluctantly away.
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