“It does not appear to me,” he said, stiffly, “to be an affair for jests. But the relief from the strain of her immediate necessities was immense. You have a daughter, no? Madame Ibstock, I think. “I want to make love for the first time tonight. You are all that I am or hope to be—the celestial atom God put into me at the beginning. But I give you this warning, and let it sink in. ‘Who is that man? What has he to do with you? No, don’t tell me. He leaned forward to better drink her in. “Can’t you believe me? I am Meysey Hill. Never again would he repeat that kiss; but at night when they separated, he would touch her forehead with his lips, and sometimes he would hold her hand in his and pat it.
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