Wood, in deploring his wild career, adverted to the melancholy condition to which it had reduced his mother. You Ann Veronica?” “Rather! I say—did you marry Gwen?” “Yes. ‘Then open it quickly. “Yet it is my last evening, and I think —if you are sure that you would like to have me—that I will risk it. “‘A SONG OF LADIES AND MY LADY “‘Saintly white and a lily is Mary, Margaret’s violets, sweet and shy; Green and dewy is Nellie-bud fairy, Forget-me-nots live in Gwendolen’s eye. My friend, I am only grieved that you of all others should have been so deceived. Because she states her case in a tangle, drags it through swamps of nonsense, it doesn’t alter the fact that she is right. So, not exactly hopefully but earnestly, she returned to the feet of God.
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