\" Lucy winced. He was not, it seemed, the proper stipendiary at all, and there had been some demur to his jurisdiction that had ruffled him. “It rests with them by the nature of things. “I’m sorry, ma’am, to seem the cause of any disturbance, but this,” he pointed to Anna, “is my wife. I am not of the canaille, but a bourgeois. ” Her words were slurred with sleep. I will tell you our plans on the way to the station. “Don’t you know?” “Oh! I know—” “Well—” Her face was an unaccustomed pink. But after all, what did it matter whether she had secrets or not? To him she was not a woman but a symbol; and one did not investigate the antecedents of symbols. To-morrow he might be sorry; but to-day, this hour! She rose, not quickly, but with a dignity which only accentuated her beauty.
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