For a stunned moment, Emile did not speak. The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. Ashen blonde, a shade that would never excite the cynical commentary which men applied to certain types of blondes. For a long time he stared at the empty doorway. She seemed smitten with a paroxysm of fear. "Ah! what is that?" he cried, pointing to a dark object floating near them amid the boiling waves, and which presented a frightful resemblance to a human face. Earles protested, seating himself before the desk, and dipping his pen in the ink. She looked into his eyes, truly noticing their gray color for the first time. " "I'm sorry I can't indulge you," replied her master, a little piqued.
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