" As he said this, in a low and mournful, but firm voice, the tears gathered thickly in Winifred's dark eyelashes. “Believe what, Michelle?” Lucy asked. For a long time to come that would naturally be the theme of any story he undertook to write. Running to Gosse, she seized the portrait from his hand and lashed out, taking him off guard, so that he staggered back and fell against the card table. Let us be friends—as near and close as friends can be. His curiosity, his literary instincts, had been submerged by the recurring thought of the fool he had made of himself. ‘I begin to ask myself why it is that I wish to become of these people. The cause of this uproar was soon manifest. You belong to me, and I have waited long enough. “Oh, yes,” the stranger remarked good-humouredly.
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