No wonder, dear, that you go
So far into ecstasies
About that Victor Hugo!
He paints the city, high and low,
With faithful pen and ready.
(I think, my dear, I ought to know,
We drove there two hours steady.”)
“I feel,” Madge had written, “that one wants a life-time to ‘do’ the Continent.”
Tom Hammond’s thoughts often flew to the gay girl. This morning, having seen a review of Carleton’s latest book of ballads, he had been reminded of her, and he laid down his pen a moment, as he gave himself up to a little reverie about her. An announcement aroused him.
“Miss Finisterre and Mr. Carlyon, sir.”