She took up one of her father’s novels and put it down again, fretted up to her own room for some work, sat on her bed and meditated upon the room that she was now really abandoning forever, and returned at length with a stocking to darn. He was standing up with the telegram crumpled in his hand. Into this new world, vivid with colour, came Spurlock, receptively. All through the night an entirely impossible and monumental Capes confronted her, and she argued with him about men and women. " "And I trust you will never have occasion to weep again, my poor soul," replied Wood, setting down his lantern, and brushing a few drops from his eyes, "unless it be tears of joy.
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