“Do you think it is fair of you to persecute me just now?” “It is not persecution, Anna,” he answered gently. She had carried a chair into the room veranda and had watched and listened until the night silences had lengthened and only occasionally she heard a voice or the rattle of rickshaw wheels in the courtyard. Remember, in your story—look at it, scattered everywhere!—that line? We arrive at true happiness only through labyrinths of misery. She had not nursed Leonardo for weeks for nothing. ” “Of course,” he said, reaching out his hand tentatively for his hat, “I could go away even now. '—'It's not to be thought of,' says I, thumping the table till every glass on it jingled; 'and I know a way as'll prevent it. Well, my dear, it is time you stopped wallowing in your sorrows like a common wretch. I'm burning up. “I want to make you happy, Lucy.
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