You must forgive the poet’s license I take. “You are very kind,” she said hesitatingly, “but I don’t remember—I don’t think that I know you, do I?” “I am afraid that you do not,” he admitted, with a smile which he meant to be encouraging. He said the place had gone to wrack. Thames unfolded the drawing, smoothed out its creases, and beheld a portrait of himself. “Good-bye,” he said earnestly. This—’ waving an imperious hand in a sweeping arc about the library ‘—is my house. "Let us hope that, like her who 'loved much,' her sins are forgiven her. "All right. ” She looked at him with uplifted eyebrows—a look of whimsical incredulity.
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