It numbered nine, and four of these were women students. She had seen her really only at teas, with the Stanley strain in her uppermost. “My dear friend,” she laughed, “not so tragic, if you please. At the recollection that it was his, she seemed to fall through a thin surface, as one might fall through the crust of a lava into glowing depths. “I will send you a copy,” Mr. Two or three podgy-looking old men with wives to match, half-a-dozen overdressed girls, and a couple of underdressed American ones, who still wore the clothes in which they had been tramping half over London since breakfast time.
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