"All life is a muddle, and we are all muddlers, more or less. ” There was genuine interest in her eyes now. "My own father!" Queerly the room and its objects receded and vanished; and there intervened a series of mental pictures that so long as she lived would ever be recurring. Believe me, the bitterness of it has almost departed, crushed out of me together with much of the weariness and sorrow I brought with me here by the nameless glory of these lonely months. "By my shoul!" he exclaimed, smacking his lips, "dat ish goot—very goot.
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