Her face scarcely reflected his enthusiasm. “Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. But a human being who is young and clean, as you are, is apt to ennoble—or explain away. He walked through a wide open archway, curtained with deep-blue curtains, into the apartment that served as a reception-room. When he returned, a moment or so afterwards, he found Sir Rowland standing by the lifeless body of his sister. “You are the most perfect, the most glorious of created things—tender, frank intellectual, brave, beautiful. You certainly have not shown much desire for my society, have you?” “You have been wrapped up in your politics,” she murmured. He buys his own clothes, chooses his own company, makes his own way of living. He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. But the possible attitude of her father she had still to face. In the beginning Ah Cum would run his glance speculatively over the assortment and select that individual who promised to be the most companionable.
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