I dare say anything seemed better to her than the nun’s habit she had been obliged to use. Why had he kissed her? What had led him into that? Neither love nor passion— utter blankness so far as reducing the act to terms. But some day she would find a place to love: there would be rosy apples on the boughs, and there would be flurries of snow blowing into her face. “Sure. I must go to-night, or I shall never behold him again. “It is very doubtful,” he said. . “As my lady wills. 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.
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