She herself, and one other there, recognized the interposition of something akin to tragedy. Impressionable, lonely, a deal beyond his analytical reach, the girl might let her sympathies go beyond those of the nurse. It was in her eyes—the big thing that comes but once. She dissected well, and in a year she found herself chafing at the limitations of the lady B. Life is morality—life is adventure. All that he had sown that afternoon with such infinite care was as nothing compared to this seed, cast without forethought. In this spy theory, however, he had no faith whatsoever. One must get them with exactly the same intensity. I do not know. She was dressed in a tattered black stuff gown, discoloured by various stains, and intended, it would seem, from the remnants of rusty crape with which it was here and there tricked out, to represent the garb of widowhood, and held in her arms a sleeping infant, swathed in the folds of a linsey-woolsey shawl.
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