"Oh, dear," cried Angel, coming out of a dream, "I'm so sorry we are going back. I began to think I was in heaven."
"Upon my word, you are a funny child," exclaimed her cousin. "I don't fancy the hot weather in the North-West is many people's notion of Paradise."
"But there are horses and chariots there. At all events," she argued, "the Bible says so."
"Do you read the Bible much, Angel?"
"Yes. I love the Book of Revelations, which tells all about gold and jewels and horses. I always read it on Sundays."
"And what do you read on week-days?"
"I have not much time. I sew a good deal for mother, and there are lessons, and going out walking with those children to the club gardens twice a day," and she gave a little impatient sigh. Gascoigne looked down at the small figure perched beside him, with pitying eyes, and thought of her dreary, colourless life.
"I'm reading a book now," she announced complacently.
"And what is it called?"
"The Mysteries of Paris."