Presently Win realized that he had no right even to look on. He turned his face to the storm and again buried himself in his old volume.
A long time later he heard his name and Constance strolled alone through the arch from the other room. She looked pale and tired but otherwise composed.
"I didn't know you were here, Win," she said as she came to his chosen window.
"I've been stuck in this book for ages. Miss Connie, I've found the most interesting thing ever."
"What is it?" Connie inquired listlessly, wondering, but not particularly caring whether Win knew of her interview with Louis di Santo-Ponte. She looked sweet and wistful as she stood leaning against the window seat, her mind down in the town where the boat for St. Malo was getting up steam. "Tell me about it, Win," she added, recalling her wandering thoughts. She liked Win as she liked most young people.
"Come and see," said Win, replacing his history in its case. Connie accompanied him to the fireplace in the main room.
"Did you ever look at that book?" he inquired, indicating the worn old
Psalter.
"There are several thousand books here that I never looked at," said Connie promptly. "Max is the one who browses in this part of the library. Ah, he's been here lately, reading his horrid old German philosophers." With an air of disgust she pointed to the blue-bound modern volumes.
"What is this book that interests you so much!" she went on, taking It from the shelf. "Oh, an old copy of the Psalms. Look at its odd type."
"It isn't the book that interests me," said Win, "but this paper. I found it accidentally. Do read it, Miss Connie, and see what you make of it."