He was walking listlessly along, well-dressed, debonnair, good-looking. " "Well, well, since you desire it, I'll say no more," returned Wood. The brown house, almost exactly the same as the Beck’s, turned black as pitch in the gloom. It seemed to her the last desperate attack upon the universe that would not let her live as she desired to live, that penned her in and controlled her and directed her and disapproved of her, the same invincible wrappering, the same leaden tyranny of a universe that she had vowed to overcome after that memorable conflict with her father at Morningside Park. Without a word, without a sign, Enschede started toward the beach, where his proa waited. I fancy that this is a little more than playing at Bohemianism. “It—it—must come,” she faltered. It was scarcely likely that she would have accepted his aid.
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