"'Zenith,' Marcovitch," she said to herself, and smiled.

"Packed in jolly green boxes, twelve shillings a hundred! I must remember in case I want to give him a Christmas present.

By then it will be difficult to find anything which has not already been showered upon him." Garth flung away the end of his cigarette, and commenced humming below his breath; then gradually broke into words and sang softly, in his sweet barytone: "'It is not mine to sing the stately grace, The great soul beaming in my lady's face.'" The tones, though quiet, were so vibrant with passionate feeling, that Jane felt herself an eavesdropper.

She hastily picked a large magnolia leaf and, leaning out, let it fall upon his head.

Garth started, and looked up.