” “There’s a sort of instinct of rebellion,” said Capes. He pictured himself visiting the girl in this shabby little home of her aunt’s—she had told him that it was shabby—and he recalled that delicious little smile with which she would surely greet him, a smile which seemed to be a matter of the eyes as well as the lips. Her time and effort was justly rewarded, because the hard cold facts she knew about neighborhood intrigues were better than fictional soap operas. Jonathan mixed with the group, and, sure of his prey, abided his time. A sense of impending disaster was upon him.
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