His manner was deferential, even eager. He talked in the same style, and pretty nearly in the same language; laughed in the same manner, and coughed, or sneezed at the same time. Her own pack was so light that she left it in the locker. " And he struck up the following ballad:— SAINT GILES'S BOWL. “I am so sorry to have startled you,” she said, “but I was startled myself. There is a musical programme, and we have the windows open and blinds up, and a pink lamp shade over the piano lamp—a sort of advertisement of the place, you know. But her great-aunt was nodding, as if this was what she had expected.
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