“What’s the objection?” “I suppose she ought to know?” said Gwen to her mother, trying to alter the key of the conversation. They were familiar but more massive. “I’ll buy a new one. ” He pointed to Ennison, who in his turn looked across at Anna. She dropped a flower—it’s in my pocket-book now. Their conversation hung. But such was the violence of his grief,—such the compunction he exhibited, that all but one looked on with an eye of compassion. You come to visit a completely different gentleman at his home. Simply because they are hardened by—by bestiality, and poisoned by the juices of meat slain in anger and fermented drinks—fancy! drinks that have been swarmed in by thousands and thousands of horrible little bacteria!” “It’s yeast,” said Ann Veronica—“a vegetable.
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