"Do you live there?" she asked.
"No--no one lives there. Members go to sleep there, but they never go to bed. There are no beds."
"Then where do you live?"
He turned and looked full in her eyes. If she were to have sympathy, if she were to have confidence and understanding, it must be now.
"I can't tell you where I live," said John.
The clock of St. Mary Abbot's chimed the hour of midday. He watched her face to see if she heard. One--two--three--four--five--six--seven--eight nine--ten--eleven--twelve! She had not heard a single stroke of it, and they had been sitting there for an hour.
CHAPTER XV
WHAT IS HIDDEN BY A CAMISOLE
Add but the flavour of secrecy to the making of Romance; allow that every meeting be clandestine and every letter written sealed, and matters will so thrive apace that, before you can, with the children in the nursery, say Jack Robinson, the fire will be kindled and the flames of it leaping through your every pulse.
When, with tacit consent, Jill asked no further questions as to where John lived, and yet continued clandestinely to meet him, listening to the work he read aloud to her, offering her opinion, giving her approval, she was unconsciously, unwillingly, too, perhaps, had she known, hastening towards the ultimate and the inevitable end.