The work was of that class of epistolary fiction then in vogue, and the extract singularly well fitted to Ruby's mood.
"My dearest Wil-hel-mina," began Mary Jane, "racked with a hun-dred conflicting em-otions, I resume the nar-rative of those fa-tal moments which rapt me from your affec-tion-ate em-brace.

Suffer me to re--to re-cap--" "Better spell it, Mary Jane." "To r.e., re--c.a.p., cap, recap--i.t, it, re--capit--Lor'! what a twister!--u, recapitu--l.a.t.e, late, re-cap-it-u-late the events de-tailed in my last letter, full stop--there! if I han't read that full stop out loud! Lord Bel-field, though an ad-ept in all the arts of dis-sim-u-la-tion (and how of-ten do we not see these arts al-lied with un-scru-pu-lous pas-sions ?), was un-able to sus-tain the gaze of my in-fu-ri-a-ted pa-pa, though he com-port-ed himself with suf-fic-ient p.h.l.e.g.m--Lor'! what a funny word!" Ruby yawned.

It is true she had drawn the dimity curtains--all but a couple of inches.

Through this space she could see the folk busy on the beach below like a swarm of small black insects, and continually augmented by those who, having run off to snatch their Christmas dinner, were returning to the spoil.

Some lined the edge of the breakers, waiting the moment to rush in for a cask or spar that the tide brought within reach; others (among whom she seemed to descry Young Zeb) were clambering out with grapnels along the western rocks; a third large group was gathered in the very centre of the beach, and from the midst of these a blue wreath of smoke began to curl up.