Nobody who cared. Melusine was unable to repulse him—even had she tried. “She is living there now,” she remarked. Would you mind drawing them back?” Ennison sprang up, but he never reached the curtains. If they had any idea the concerts he had seen, they would have known the quality of her playing. On this side stood the instruments with which the latter piece of pleasantry had been effected,—namely, a bucket filled with paint and a brush: on that was erected a trophy, consisting of a watchman's rattle, a laced hat, with the crown knocked out, and its place supplied by a lantern, a campaign wig saturated with punch, a torn steen-kirk and ruffles, some halfdozen staves, and a broken sword. In the bad light he looked at once military and sentimental and studious, like one of Ouida’s guardsmen revised by Mr.
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