Figg?" said Jack, peevishly. And through it all, like a golden thread on a piece of tapestry, weaving in and out of the patterns, the unspoken longing for love. She answered in whispers, for there was the white arm of a woman in the next box peeping beyond the partition within a yard of him. "This gentleman brings us tidings of an old friend, my dear," said the carpenter. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. She thought of him as always courteous and helpful, as realizing, indeed, his ideal of protection and service, as chivalrously leaving her free to live her own life, rejoicing with an infinite generosity in every detail of her irresponsive being. "I had to give in to him. “I didn’t think you’d come.
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