Englishmen who can express themselves better in
writing than in speech. When he and Mrs. Otway
were together, she could always, and generally did,
out-talk him; but often, after some discussion of theirs,
he would go home and write her quite a good letter.
And then, after reading it, and perhaps smiling over
it a little, she would tear it up and put the pieces in
the waste-paper basket.

Yes, her rather odd, unconventional friendship with
Major Guthrie was a pleasant feature of her placid,
agreeably busy life, and it was strange that he had
neither come, nor written and explained what kept
him away.

And while Mrs. Otway sat there, waiting she knew
not quite for what, old Anna sat knitting in her
kitchen on the other side of the hall, also restlessly
longing for something, anything, to happen, which
would give her news of what was really going on in
the Fatherland. All her heart, during these last three
days, had been with Minna and Willi in far-off Berlin.

A few moments ago a picture paper had been spread
out on the table before Anna. She always enjoyed
herself over that paper. It was Miss Rose's daily
gift to her old nurse, and was paid for out of her small
allowance. The two morning papers read by her
ladies were in due course used to light the fires; but
Anna kept her own _Daily_Pictorials_ most carefully,
and there was an ever-growing neat pile of them in a
corner of the scullery.

But today's _Daily_Pictorial_ lay in a crumpled heap,
tossed to one side on the floor of the kitchen, for poor
old Anna had just read out the words:

[[86]]

p085 _ -chap- _ toc-1 _ p086w _ toc-2 _ +chap+ _ p087

v?