The name of this damsel was Edgeworth Bess; and, as her fascinations will not, perhaps, be found to be without some influence upon the future fortunes of her boyish admirer, we have thought it worth while to be thus particular in describing them. To have the present lengthen into years! But in a few hours she would be upon her way, far lonelier than she had ever been. The nun on the threshold was of middle age and heavily built, her back uneven from toil and her hands roughened. It was past seven when she got back to her hotel. She was a clever girl, the best of her year in the High School, and she made a valiant fight for Somerville or Newnham but her father had met and argued with a Somerville girl at a friend’s dinner-table and he thought that sort of thing unsexed a woman. It was obviously pitched well, hitting her head at a good thirtyfive miles per hour. “I do not know any one of that name. As a rule their comings and goings were discussed with perfect confidence, but on this occasion they both felt that there was intent in her silence as to her destination. After all, his was a pleasant face, and a pleasant voice, and very likely Annabel had behaved badly. He looked exactly as she had dreamed him, handsome, rigidly dressed in a black suit, his hair still half gray, his eyes green and flashing like a cat’s.
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