Mr. and Mrs. Jimmie at Canterbury.
"Oh, Jimmie," sighed his wife.
Another knock.
"Mary, what do you want?" I said, savagely.
She stuttered.
"And please, Missis, they want to know if you will just come and sit on the doorstep a moment with a book in your hand. I told them Mr. Jardine wasn't at home, so they said you would do!"
"No, I won't. Tell my sister to put on my hat and hold the book in front of her face and be photographed for me."
"Very well, Missis."
She went out, and again I numbered the page and essayed to write. But I could not. I was rapidly becoming mired. I stonily refused to leave my desk, but sat staring at the wall, trying to get the thread of my narrative, when—Mary again.
She was in tears.