"He left an envelope with some money in it. But you must tell her. Oh, what’s his name? It’s on the tip of my tongue. “Why shouldn’t one face the facts of one’s self?” She stood up. Anna was not “Alcide” of the “Ambassador’s,” whose subtly demure smile and piquant glances had called him to her side from the moment of their first meeting. ‘Idiot. " "Now for it," thought the woollen-draper, "I shall, at least, ascertain how the land lies. The kiss was powerfully moving. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. Women are made like the potter’s vessels —either for worship or contumely, and are withal fragile vessels.
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