The funeral procession had now approached the grave, around which many of the congregation, who were deeply interested by the sad ceremonial, had gathered. “Lord!” she said. Grudgingly he admired her. A traffic of copious barges slumbered over the face of the river-barges either altogether stagnant or dreaming along in the wake of fussy tugs; and above circled, urbanely voracious, the London seagulls. White. '" "No, we can't stand that," hiccupped Smith, scarcely able to keep his legs. “Stop this—this humbugging,” he explained. ‘You are a born rebel, ma’am, and I can see now where she gets it from. Gerald instantly took her arm and guided her back to her chair.
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