I close the window and sigh with relief. But that hole must be stuffed. If it were not for the inclemency of the weather and the lateness of the hour, I would send for the glazier. But for the present it must be stuffed with something. I hunt about, find a newspaper and stop the hole.
Now I may calmly give myself once more over to my thoughts.
A kiss. A bound. Vanished——
She came the following day. With her deep eyes, her deep voice and her singing youth.
I feared her coming; I tried to hope that she would not come. No sooner had I caught sight of her than my heart began to pound excitedly.
She had again arrived just after my wife had left the house. Had she watched for her to leave? How long had she been lurking outside? I asked her and she laughed.
Oh, what was the difference! She had waited much longer before coming to me for the first time. The thought of using the manuscript as a pretext had been slow to suggest itself to her.
But—wouldn’t I prefer to come to her? She had her own room. She might receive any one she pleased; she was perfectly free.
She said all this so simply. So sweetly, so innocently, so naturally,—with that deep velvety voice of hers, and her fathomless eyes and her intense youth.