There were doorways to peer into, dim cluttered holes with shadowy forms moving about, potters and rug-weavers. “Why should one pretend?” she whispered. ” “You did not——” “Wait, Annabel! When I arrived in London I went to live in the cheapest place I could find. “It’s glorious good!” “Suppose now—look at this long snow-slope and then that blue deep beyond —do you see that round pool of color in the ice—a thousand feet or more below? Yes? Well, think—we’ve got to go but ten steps and lie down and put our arms about each other. “It’s just that he doesn’t seem like your type. And how could I come home—when he locks me in rooms and all that?” “I do wish this wasn’t going on,” said Miss Stanley, after a pause.
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