"Allow him that small grace," cried Wood. What sort of a standard of life yours may be I do not know, yet in your heart you know very well that every word you have spoken to me has been a veiled insult, every time you have come into my presence has been an outrage. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. We have only those phantoms called memories, which are the husks of dreams. It was astonishing how often this picture returned: cold rosy apples and flurries of snow. . Flesh and blood, vivid, alluring; she was no longer the symbol, therefore she had become, as in the twinkling of an eye, an utter stranger. “Heavens!” exclaimed Ann Veronica, with extraordinary passion. ” He caught up and went on with a sort of clumsiness: “Let me present you with them and be your voter. ‘What has that to say to anything?’ ‘Nothing at all,’ smiled Lucy nervously.
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