She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. "Your audacity passes belief," cried the latter, as soon as his surprise would allow him utterance. You know nothing of life, nothing of its dangers, nothing of its possibilities. She was standing before a window, against the background of the rain-burdened April sky. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. He refused his food,—and even when better provisions were offered him, rejected them. “By-the-bye,” he said, presently, “your sister was married to old Ferringhall the other day, wasn’t she? I saw the notice in the papers. “She cannot be aware,” he continued, “that she is making herself conspicuous. ” “Would you let me go on studying for a time?” “If you order patience.
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