” “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. She was reasonably certain why. Pews had been brought in and set in two rows before the huge table, covered in white cloth, that formed the altar at the far end. While this was effected, intelligence was brought that a formidable mob was pouring down Field Lane, the end of which was barricaded. As he returned to the table, he put his finger to his nose; and, though he said nothing, he thought he had a much better chance of winning his wager. The night was now profoundly dark. The world, she discovered, with these matters barred had no particular place for her at all, nothing for her to do, except a functionless existence varied by calls, tennis, selected novels, walks, and dusting in her father’s house. “Of course,” said Miss Miniver—she went on in a regularly undulating voice —“we DO please men. You didn’t see me fall into a swoon when you cursed just now, did you?’ ‘I’m beginning to doubt if anything less than a sledgehammer would send you into a swoon,’ Gerald retorted. I want to do something. "No, Rollo; not this afternoon. "I expect a very extraordinary person to supper, Rachel," he remarked. The well of tears in her eyes was dry.
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