He spent the evening telling her stories of Greece as she sat in front of a roaring fire. “You know of no one likely to have had a grudge against this man?” he asked. In reply to this summons a horn was instantly blown at the corner of the street. His was the Latin turn of thinking; he had fallen in love at thirteen, and he was still capable—he prided himself—of falling in love. He began to talk again in quick undertones that she could not clearly hear. Her eyes were dilated— fixed in a horrified stare at the parting in the curtains which hung before the window. Perhaps it was the recollection of those happy days.
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