She read on and on, now thrilled by the swiftly moving drama, now enraptured by the tender passages of love. “We don’t let to ladies,” they said. \" \"May Day. " "They are useless," she returned. But in its stead—toward morning—there appeared another idea which appealed to him as sublime, appealed to the primitive conscience, to his artistic sense of the drama, to the poet and the novelist in him. Then he looked towards his granddaughter once more, who had flounced away to the window at her greataunt’s interruption. “DEAR MR. I’ve had it, Sheila. ‘A convenient desire, Mademoiselle Charvill.
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