"How old are you?" demanded Miss Prudence. It took all my self control not to let my hands wander. The door opened. She was posing before the mirror, critically, miserably, defensively, and perhaps bewilderedly. The haste to send her upon her way now had but one interpretation—the recognition of his own immediate danger, the fear that if this tender association continued, he would end in offering her a calamity quite as impossible as that which had happened—the love of a man who was in all probability older than her father! The hurt was no less intensive because it was so ridiculous. How long wilt thou forget me, O Lord? for ever? How long wilt thou hide thy face from me? She came upon the Song of Songs—which had been pasted down in the Enschede Bible—the burning litany of love; and from time to time she intoned some verse of tender lyric beauty. “Don’t worry, Julian. " Jonathan made no answer, but motioned the partners to take him away.
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