He could not pull her soul apart now to satisfy that queer absorbing, delving thing which was his literary curiosity; he had put her outside that circle. Maybe the girl was telling the truth, and then again, maybe she wasn't. At last he took up his thoughts again: “I wonder if, some day, one won’t need to rebel against customs and laws? If this discord will have gone? Some day, perhaps—who knows?—the old won’t coddle and hamper the young, and the young won’t need to fly in the faces of the old. The owner of this dress had a broad weather-beaten face, small twinkling eyes, and a bushy, grizzled beard.
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