Every one of those four stories would be accepted. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. It was not a hopeful looking group. But then the features changed. She leaned back in her chair. E. . The girl who had just left the room was as great a mystery to him now as on the afternoon when he had met her in Piccadilly and taken her to tea. The primitive superstition of his Puritan forbears was his; and before this the buckler of his education disintegrated.
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