Lucy had passed the house once on the sidewalk, on a rare day when he was shoveling snow. There would be no mercy in this man. The poor boy, imagining things! "That's want of substantial food. Fortescue rambled round the garden with soft, propitiatory steps, the Corinthian nose upraised and his hands behind his back, pausing to look long and hard at the fruit-trees against the wall. He would discuss something she had been reading, and he would give her some unexpected angle, setting a fictional character before her with astonishing clearness. During the previous night he had been restless; and in the lonely dragging hours his thoughts had raced in an endless circle—action without progress. At this moment she was staring ahead; and again came the opportunity to study her.
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