He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. It was John Diedermayer, who had been transformed into a young scholar with a large pair of wire-rimmed eyeglasses on. . "Arrest!" vociferated Wood. Consternation gripped him. In privacy he read and reread it a dozen times, and eventually destroyed it by fire. “I wonder,” she began, presently, “why I love you—and love you so much?. “I feel justified then,” he said, “in annexing his chair. “Last time I saw you,” he reminded her, “you spoke, did you not, of obtaining some employment in London. I am tired, and I want to be alone. You feel that that smile is for you, the words are for you, the whole song is for you. ‘Mademoiselle,’ he had greeted her, entering the little private parlour where, Martha being at prayer in their room, she sat alone, reading over and over the letter Mother Abbess had given her and revolving plans in her head.
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