" "No more of this," rejoined Thames, "or we shall quarrel. ’ ‘Never mind the comtesse,’ adjured Prudence. It comes over the mountains, Anna, pink darkening into orange red, everywhere a wonderful cloud sea, scintillating with colour. One of these, a lady, evidently a confirmed invalid, and attired in deep mourning, reclined upon a sort of couch, or easy chair, set on wheels, with her head supported by cushions, and her feet resting upon a velvet footstool. I can’t even make myself care. “Splendid you are looking to-day, Miss Stanley,” he said. For what indeed does she do? A simple song, no gesture, no acting, nothing. ’ The lady uttered a scornful sound.
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