” Lucy wanted badly to believe her. Their very furniture had mysteriously a high-browed quality, and Mr. ” She came closer. “It has been very kind of you to see me, but I don’t want to sit and talk and use your time any longer. “I suppose some one makes a bit on the food,” she said. "What poet was that?" "Stevenson. Not Trodger. ’ She shook her head sadly. In one hand she carried a long-stalked red rose, dripping with dew, in the other the post-bag. . He sat back in an easy chair with a hand upon each of the elbows, and looked steadfastly into the fire.
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