“Why won’t you sleep in my bed tonight, Lucia, where 80 it’s warm?” He asked her one night, teasing but mournful, as she stood in her bedroom doorway in a long white gown. She saw her life before her robbed of all generous illusions, the wrappered life unwrappered forever, vistas of dull responses, crises of makebelieve, years of exacting mutual disregard in a misty garden of fine sentiments. "The shoulder-clappers!" added a lady, who, in her anxiety to join the party, had unintentionally substituted her husband's nether habiliments for her own petticoats. Then she was turning, ignoring the muttered cursing and the rattling that immediately ensued at the door. . "And me," added Mrs. ‘I do not know your Gérard. She is a stranger to you. . He beamed as she whispered to 22 him that she had seen a table so fine or tasted such wonders. Sheppard. ” She seemed unmoved, but she did not look at him. And now—Dear! Dear! The dayspring from on high hath visited me.
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