“He must have been delightful," she said, "when he was alive!”

“And all that you are sorry for is what you haven't done.”

“It was four o'clock of a stickily wet Saturday. As long as it is anything from Monday to Friday the average library attendant goes around thanking her stars she isn't a school-teacher; but the last day of the week, when the rest of the world is having its relaxing Saturday off and coming to gloat over you as it acquires its Sunday-reading best seller, if you work in a library you begin just at noon to wish devoutly that you'd taken up scrubbing-by-the-day, or hack-driving, or porch-climbing or- anything on earth that gave you a weekly half-holiday!”

“And remember, Wallis, there's something the matter with Mr. Allan's shutters. They won't always close the sunshine out as they should."Wallis almost winked, if an elderly, mutton-chopped servitor can be imagined as winking."No, ma'am," he promised. Something wrong with 'em. I'll remember, ma'am.”

“And the way you lost your temper!" went on Wallis enthusiastically. "Oh, Mr. Allan, it was beautiful! You haven't been more than to say snarly since the accident! It was so like the way you used to throw hair-brushes--”

“He must have been delightful," she said, "when he was alive!”