Miss Quincey seemed quite prostrated by the result of her calculations.
To everything that Rhoda could urge to soothe her she answered steadily:
"You do not know him as I do."
The voice was not Miss Quincey's voice; it was the monotonous, melancholy voice of the Fixed Idea.
Her knowledge of him. After all, nothing could take from her the exquisite privacy of that possession.
* * * * *
"Eros anikate machan," said Rhoda.
Miss Quincey was gone and the Classical Mistress was in school again, coaching a backward student through the "Antigone."
"Oh Love, unconquered in fight. Love who—Love who fliest, who fliest about among things," said the student. And the teacher laughed.
Laughed, for the entertaining blunder called up a vivid image of the god in Miss Quincey's drawing-room, fluttering about among the furniture and doing terrific damage with his wings.
"What's wrong?" asked the student.