"Oh, yes."
"Does Mrs. Crossthwaite know that you have seen me?"
"Yes. Her husband doesn't. He wouldn't understand."
John smiled.
"Men never do," said he. "They have too keen a sense of what is wrong for other people. When shall I see you?"
"This afternoon."
"Where?"
"Anywhere----" she paused.
"You were going to say something," said John quickly. "What is it?"
She looked away. In the scheme of this world's anomalies, there is such a thing as a duty to oneself. They have not thought it wise to write it in the catechism, for truly it is but capable of so indefinite a rendering into language, that it would be only dangerous to set it forth. For language, after all, is merely a sound box, full of words, in the noisy rattling of which, the finer expression of all thought is lost.