"The end is the most beautiful in English literature. Away up on the hillside was the little country railway station. ’ ‘Estate? But are you not obliged to do this work of the milice?’ asked Melusine, her eyes round. His business has thriven; legacies have unexpectedly dropped into his lap; and, to crown all, he has made a large fortune by a lucky speculation in South-Sea stock,—made it, too, where so many others have lost fortunes, your humble servant amongst the number—ha! ha! In a word, Sir, Mr. ” “What else,” Lady Lescelles murmured, “are men for?” Anna laughed.
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