It has left its mark upon her." She read it over, gloated over it, and destroyed it.

"Uncle would be coming on the next train," she saw.

"He'd hold Ann up for a copy of the attack! And why this mad passion of mine for destruction?
Should a man walking on a tight-rope yield to every playful little desire to chase butterflies ?" But as she looked again--Ann was deep in the illustrations of "Days in Florence" and could be surveyed with impunity--she wondered if she might not have written better than she knew.

Her choice of facts doubtless was preposterous enough; what had been the conflicting elements--her fancy might wander far afield in finding that.

But she was sure she saw truly in seeing marks of conflict.