The candles—for McClintock never used oil in his dining room—were burning low in the sconces. And Miss Miniver fell discussing whether Goopes or Bernard Shaw or Tolstoy or Doctor Tumpany or Wilkins the author had the more powerful and perfect mind in existence at the present time. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. 225 “Sebastianus. "No"—as if her thoughts were elsewhere. 1 through 1. Wood, delighted at the idea. Thanks. That dress she has on—my mother might have worn it. . You go cheer him up.
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