"I think I see what you mean." "Oh I express it badly, but I should be delighted if you'd let me come to see you--to explain it better." She made no response to this, and her thoughtful eyes fell on the big album, on which she presently laid her hands as if to take it away.

"I did use to say out West that they might write a little less for autographs--to all the great poets, you know--and study the thoughts and style a little more." "What do they care for the thoughts and style?
They didn't even understand you.

I'm not sure," I added, "that I do myself, and I dare say that you by no means make me out." She had got up to go, and though I wanted her to succeed in not seeing Neil Paraday I wanted her also, inconsequently, to remain in the house.
I was at any rate far from desiring to hustle her off.

As Mrs.Weeks Wimbush, upstairs, was still saving our friend in her own way, I asked my young lady to let me briefly relate, in illustration of my point, the little incident of my having gone down into the country for a profane purpose and been converted on the spot to holiness.

Sinking again into her chair to listen she showed a deep interest in the anecdote.