Her cheeks were the colour of chalk, her eyes were filled with terror. Your name?" "Owen Wood," replied the carpenter; "I've no reason to be ashamed of it. She turned into the study, sat down at the table and fingered the pencils, curiously stirred. There was some one there. It was so hopeless to put it to them. Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. I hate to see you spoil yourself with guys like me. But if that can possibly be done I want it to be done. It seemed intolerable that she should go home and admit herself beaten. Immediately a feathered hat emerged, under which a familiar countenance was visible. On the way home he was still thoughtful. “I have waited for this,” he said, and stood quite still, looking at her until the silence became oppressive.
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