‘You are Mrs Ibstock, I think,’ she said eagerly. “Will you come in, Sir John. “You’re not a man for me—not one of a sex, I mean. His gaze dropped to the black garment that covered her. ‘The truth is, Everett,’ she said brightly, limping up to the general and tucking a hand in his arm, ‘that the girl is you all over again. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. “I must try the Directory.
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