"Can you not love him?" "Love him!" echoed the widow. ” He said curiously. She was sick of herself, of her life, of everything but him; and for him all her masked and hidden being was crying out. He ushered them with an amiable flat hand into a minute apartment with a little gas-stove, a silk crimson-covered sofa, and a bright little table, gay with napery and hot-house flowers. ‘Softly, you say?’ she uttered, raging. So that it seemed to her the whole world had changed —the very light of it had changed. ” “And in Paris——” “In Paris,” he interrupted, “she was a very delightful companion, but beyond that —one did not take her seriously. . One with the appearance of a bald little gnome yawned agonizingly.
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