. ” “I’m curious. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. I did not reckon upon—him. She had a compartment to herself in the train from London to Morningside Park, and she sat with both her feet on the seat in an attitude that would certainly have distressed her mother to see, and horrified her grandmother beyond measure; she sat with her knees up to her chin and her hands clasped before them, and she was so lost in thought that she discovered with a start, from a lettered lamp, that she was at Morningside Park, and thought she was moving out of the station, whereas she was only moving in. He drew compellingly upon his new characters to keep him out of this melancholy channel; but they ebbed and ebbed; he could not hold them. He looked melancholy enough, it is true. But she had loved the man. “We are the music and you are the instrument,” she said; “we are verse and you are prose. Maggot, dealing him a buffet that sent him reeling several yards backwards.
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