She went down, feeling rather than seeing the way. “I can’t imagine it,” said Miss Miniver. Then she cursed herself for his eyes went to the letter and came back to her face. ” “I can’t be portentous, dear, when you’re about. And then, as she stood there, with the fragments of the torn canvas at her feet, some even caught upon her skirt, the door was thrown open, and a girl entered humming a light tune. Why was he there? why did the tempter dare to invade that sacred spot! She could not answer her own questions, but vague fearful suspicions passed through her mind. . "Is this a season to speak on such a subject?" "Perhaps not," rejoined the woollen-draper; "but the uncontrollable violence of my passion must plead my excuse. But women—women as a rule don’t throw themselves into things like that.
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