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"What for?" demanded Wood. It was the first day you kissed me, under the willows, coming into Veraz. Your laugh reminds me of—of——" "Whose, Sir?" demanded Jackson, becoming suddenly grave. He walked through the misty September night to his rooms. Somebody to depend upon her; somebody to have need of her, if only for a little while. She was her mother’s child, fair of face, doted upon and spoiled by her attentions. “Will you help me?” he asked. ‘Lover’s tiff indeed. "It's not an offer," continued he, "that I'm likely to make, or you're likely to receive every day in the year. “—and your aunt—” For a time he searched for the mot juste. Like a river swollen by many currents, it gathered force from the various avenues that poured their streams into it. I am going to take you entirely at your word.
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