’ Lucilla sat up. As in all things, so his thoughts came to him deliberately. But as the students sat about Miss Garvice’s tea-pot and drank tea or smoked cigarettes, the talk got away from Capes. He had a peculiar way of stepping in, in a parry; knew his arm, and its just time of moving; put a firm faith in that, and never let his opponent escape. The world had grown dark and wide, and she was very small. ‘Oh, dearie me, you make me feel a traitor. He regretted— more deeply than he could say—the occurrence of this evening. The mother, Cathy Beck, was as patient and as charitable of an individual that Lucy had ever known, a big kindly Polish-American woman with the heart of an angel. .
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