Lord, what a state I was in! Night after night I sat there, I watched her come in, I watched her go. Quilt, who was an ardent lover of mischief, could not help laughing most heartily at the rueful appearance of these personages. “But why,” he said in the gasping voice of one subduing an agony, and looked at her from under a pain-wrinkled brow, “why did you not tell me this before?” “I didn’t know—I thought I might be able to control myself. . Michelle’s eyes widened. There’s nothing happened at all!” She didn’t mean, he concluded, to give him any more trouble ever, and he was free to begin a fresh chromatic novel—he had just finished the Blue Lagoon, which he thought very beautiful and tender and absolutely irrelevant to Morningside Park—or work in peace at his microtome without bothering about her in the least. After an hour of waiting, she slammed her bedroom door and he returned to his basement. “Of course he may merely have been telling her who we were, but I think it improbable.
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