She wanted to cry out upon herself for the uttermost fool in existence. ‘I do not believe you. ” “Upon my word,” he declared, “you are right. Will you let your servant call me a hansom,” she continued, opening the door before he could reach her side. He had been ill; no matter about that: he recollected every thought that had led up to it and every act that had consummated the deed. But when all was over, a sorrowful calm succeeded, and, if not free from grief, she was tranquil. The room was intimate and wonderful to her with its shadows now cast over the girlish menagerie of stuffed animals.
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