“Pretend,” he said, “that all I have said hasn’t been said. Her loneliness was consuming, Lucia. Stanley regarded him through his glasses with something approaching animosity. ‘You are jealous!’ ‘Yes,’ he agreed simply. Send for Mr. Before he could draw in the rein, his steed—startled apparently by some object undistinguishable by the rider,—swerved with such suddenness as to unseat him, and precipitate him on the ground. “I have heard of you, of course,” Anna answered hesitatingly, “but——” “You cannot imagine what I have come to see you about. We can love on a snow cornice, we can love over a pail of whitewash.
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