” “I suppose,” said Constance, stencilling away at bright pink petals, “it’s our lot. This occasioned a little delay; but Jack, whose skill as a workman in the particular line he had chosen was unequalled, and who laughed at difficulties, speedily cut out a panel by means of a centre-bit and knife, took the key from the other side, and unlocked the door. Through all he said ran one quality that pleased her—the quality of a man who feels that things can be done, that one need not wait for the world to push one before one moved. Only old librarians and Shirley Temples say that. Indeed, it is rather a matter of whose death is close. There was no other door in it, and Jack therefore struck into another entry which branched off to the right. He pressed his lips to her with a much greater force than she had anticipated.
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