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Stanley came home at a quarter to six—an earlier train by fifteen minutes than he affected—his sister met him in the hall with a hushed expression. He had, he felt, to create certain ideas and vivify certain curiosities and feelings in her. She flushed with desire and happiness, her husband had returned to her and all would be aright. The stranger started at the touch, and spoke. Yon must be mine to-night. The roof was partially untiled; the chimneys were tottering; the side-walls bulged, and were supported by a piece of timber propped against the opposite house; the glass in most of the windows was broken, and its place supplied with paper; while, in some cases, the very frames of the windows had been destroyed, and the apertures were left free to the airs of heaven. She appeared not to have realised the implications of her outburst, but clung a little to Gerald’s hands which had taken hers in a comforting clasp. I have—run away.
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