Now Owen Wood had one fair child, Unlike her mother, meek and mild; Her love the draper strove to gain, But she repaid him with disdain. "Who's there?—Pshaw! it's only the wind. "Miss Enschede—such an odd name!—are you French?" "Oh, no. I hope in a few days, Miss Pellissier, that these posters will be livening up our London hoardings. ” He said to her with as much casualness as he could muster. ” “DUSTING!” said Miss Miniver, in a sepulchral voice.
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