Morrison surveyed him, amused.
'If you like to call it so,' he said, lifting his delicate eyebrows a moment.

'Well, I'll take the risk.' He left the room.

Fenwick thrust his hands into his pockets, with a muttered exclamation, and walked to the window.

He looked out upon a Westmoreland valley in the first flush of spring; but he saw nothing.
His blood beat in heart and brain with a suffocating rapidity.

So his chance was come! What would Phoebe say?
As he stood by the large window, face and form in strong relief against the crude green without, the energy of the May landscape was, as it were, repeated and expressed in the man beholding it.