CHAPTER XXX. She sprang to her feet and stood listening with parted lips and eager eyes. Thrilling, she began to dance, swirled, glided, and dipped. “Splendid it must be to be a composer. ‘Tell me, my boy. " The answer to this request was a "smack" of a very different description, bestowed upon Sheppard's outstretched face by the little damsel, as she ran out of the room. “A wonderful piece of work,” he declared. You can give up thinking and leave all the brain work to her. " "Enschede?—her father? What's happened?" McClintock sat down. But she could not live in constant association with him without having these gaps filled. There is so little abandon, so little real joyousness. m.
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