"Oh, lud! what's that?" exclaimed a female voice, from an adjoining room. The big gray spaces of London, the shop-lit, greasy, shining streets, had become very remote; the biological laboratory with its work and emotions, the meetings and discussions, the rides in hansoms with Ramage, were like things in a book read and closed. But Miss Stanley took no notice of these things. ‘There you have soldiers. Many’s the young ’un I’ve seen get hisself into just such a knuckleheaded mess all on account of a pretty wench. She speedily reached her own abode,—a little cottage, standing in the outskirts of the village. “Lucy!” He whispered into her ear beneath a dusty curtain cloud.
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