“I would not have you go for anything,” she answered. Capes agreed with the utmost cordiality. He got out in much the same way from the Gatehouse,—stole the keys, and passed through a room where I was sitting half-asleep in a chair. The shape of the head, the height and breadth of the brow, the angle of the nose, the cut of the chin and jaws, all were fine, of a type she had never before looked upon closely. “Come sit with me, beautiful. Mrs. Every girl in the world practically, except a few of us who teach or type-write, and then we’re underpaid and sweated—it’s dreadful to think how we are sweated!” She had lost her generalization, whatever it was. Practically it was most of the chief interests in life that she proposed to settle in this pedestrian meditation.
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