A girl—at my age—is grown-up. She was very pale, but she reminded him more at that minute than at any time of “Alcide” as he had first known her. Play foul, and win. I believe I have always been in love with you. They were standing face to face now upon the hearthrug. Then she sat down—uninvited— and looked from one to the other curiously. The chromatic fiction with which he relieved his mind glanced but slightly at this aspect of life, and never with any quality of guidance. The autumn rain had made every surface tacky, the wet seats of painted red picnic tables were avoided.
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