Left to himself, he took a survey of the room, and his heart leaped as he beheld over the, chimney-piece, a portrait of himself. “Well, I don’t want you to talk to him,” he said, very firmly. Whether they are loved or unloved has no bearing upon this desire to test their wings, to try this new adventure, to take this leap into the dark. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. Wood—and after him came his daughter. A woman cannot change her soul. I’m that shamed to confess it, miss, but it were then I thought of Martha.
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