"Halloa, widow!" shouted a rough voice from below, "where the devil are you?" Mrs. "There he is!" "I fear not," said her father, with a doubtful shake of the head. There was a round table covered, not with the usual “tapestry” cover, but with a plain green cloth that went passably with the wall-paper. She was alone, and the mask of her unchanging high spirits was for the moment laid aside. You have been her guardian angel. As they careened into a parking space, Lucy clung to the upholstery so as not to be thrown against the front seats.
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