. He drifted in and out of consciousness. Wild will hang me. “I can’t imagine what has come over you,” said her aunt. Her eyes glistened in the darkness—for light was only admitted through a small grated window—like flames, and, as she fixed them on him, their glances seemed to penetrate his very soul. “To tell you the truth, I am a little dull. “The very question shows your ignorance,” he declared. She put a stool for him at a little distance from her own, and after he had seen the day’s work he hesitated, and then plunged into a resumption of their discussion about beauty. . . The birds were singing blithely amid the trees,—the lowing of the cows resounded from the yard,—a delicious perfume from the garden was wafted through the open window,—at a distance, the church-bells of Willesden were heard tolling for evening service. I will not trust you. I’d take it— forgive me if I seem a little urgent—as a sort of proof of friendliness. Her aunt had summoned up an altogether too vivid picture of her father as the masterful man, overbearing, emphatic, sentimental, noisy, aimless.
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