And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. " "Don't be angry with me, Sir," cried the widow, sobbing bitterly, "pray don't. ’ With an unexpected flush of pleasure, he recalled the girl’s antics. She could hear him from the lower floor as he locked the gates and drew up the wooden part of the bridge. She produced from the depths of her pride the ugly investigatory note of the modern district visitor. This is the one movement that brings women of different classes together for a common purpose.
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