The procession had just got into line of march, when a dreadful groan, mixed with yells, hootings, and execrations, was heard. "What the devil are you howling about?" cried Langley. I gather you wish to go up in some fantastic get-up, wrapped about in your opera cloak, and that after the festivities you propose to stay with these friends of yours, and without any older people in your party, at an hotel. Winifred's reception was kind, but more distant, and after the slight ceremonial she resumed her occupation. ‘Your mystery lady, I mean. I will go to-night. ‘That fellow of yours is a deal better, by the by.
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