He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. Their heads touched again, their arms tightened. ” “Oh, well!” he said, a little doubtfully, “it’s just a phase,” and bent down and rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, with his heart beating and his nerves a-quiver. “You have changed somehow—and you certainly are less friendly. ’ ‘Yes,’ agreed Lucilla excitedly, ‘and she has been telling us how much of a friend she was to your mother. Heaven will not permit the continuance of such wickedness as you practise. And a broken picture that was torn when I hit him with it. But your role would have been to go about saying, ‘I beg your pardon’ in a reproving tone to things you understood quite well in your heart and saw no harm in. It was a habit of his to talk to himself. “It is incredible. .
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