"I read those stories. ‘You would have a history of my life? Very well. Still, that leaves over a million shrines short, not reckoning widows who re-marry. And a custom had grown up of a general tea at four o’clock, under the auspices of a Miss Garvice, a tall and graceful girl of distinguished intellectual incompetence, in whom the hostess instinct seemed to be abnormally developed. The weed was all right. Why? Because Howard Spurlock the author dared not risk the liberty of Howard Spurlock the malefactor; because there were still some dregs in this cup of irony. While he was thus employed a farming man came into the barn. "Have a moment's patience, Sir Rowland," returned Wild; "and you shall hear.
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