She ought to have written at once and told him exactly what had happened. “So, how’d it go?” Lucy sighed. I tried. She was wan and white. That night in his den he smoked many pipes. Are you prepared to do it?” Her hands clenched. It occurred to her that it was absurd and wrong to be so continuously thinking of one engrossing topic, and she made a strenuous effort to force her mind to other questions. I’m ashamed to confess it, but I didn’t want the charge of you—a too close reminder of my own lost babe. She remained for some seconds crouching at the fender, poker in hand. The house was invisible from the road, and yet enormous once within view. Yet she took with her an uneasy consciousness that in this affair might lie the germs of future trouble. “Dear friend,” she said, “remember that you are speaking to one who has failed in the only serious object which she has ever sought to accomplish. I don’t know anyone.
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