hours until the breakfast bell rang, by watching the gardener sharpening his scythe to cut the grass, and observing the sleepy maids unfastening the shutters of the opposite houses, shaking mats, and washing the steps. She wished to go then and there in search of her sister, her anxiety and impatience grew every minute, and she fretted, as we all have done, at the restrictions that prevent one paying a casual call at six in the morning, and the laziness that fails to enforce the running of trains the twenty-four hours through.
Not even a cab could she see. Many a time had she opened her window, looked out, closed it again, taken a novel, put it by, looked at her watch, walked up and down, re-arranged her hair, fidgeted, opened her door, listened if anyone was moving, shut it and sat down, before the welcome boom of the gong, struck by Müller's stout arm, announced the first meal of the day.
Poor Miss Prudence, made but a dismal pretence at eating. She knew that her queer visitor of the previous evening was remembered and discussed, and she felt that every morsel of bread would choke her. She crumbled a slice on her plate, drank a cup
