Her aunt, a faded, anæmic-looking lady of somewhat too obtrusive gentility, was still sitting with her hand pressed to her heart. 135 < 17 > OWNER OF A LONELY HEART School wrapped for the season: days grew longer. Slowly and reluctantly she came to realize that Vivie Warren was what is called an “ideal. “MY DEAR MISS STANLEY,” it began,—“I hope you will forgive my bothering you with a letter, but I have been thinking very much over our conversation at Lady Palsworthy’s, and I feel there are things I want to say to you so much that I cannot wait until we meet again. At the threshold of the study he bade her good-night; but he did not touch her forehead with his lips. At the corner of Liquorpond Street stood the old Hampstead coach-office; and, on the night in question, a knot of hostlers, waggoners, drivers, and stable-boys was collected in the yard. “This is all rot!” he declared angrily.
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