The wind blew in fitful gusts, and scattered the yellow leaves from the elms and horse-chestnuts. “You’re our superstar!” Turning to her foster father, she was bear hugged again, squashing the white carnations. Hollo rumbled in his throat. And then, there would be the question of money. ‘Well?’ demanded Miss Froxfield, accepting a glass of lemonade proffered by a passing lackey. Twice Spurlock went to Copeley's—twenty miles to the northwest—for ice and mail. Beyond was a field sloping steeply upwards, and at the top a small pine plantation. \"Word gets round. Two hours had come and gone during this tantalizing occupation. " "So she was," replied the woollen-draper, helping himself to an enormous pinch of snuff with the air of a man who does not dislike to be rallied about his gallantry,—"so she was.
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