Lucy sat paralyzed, as still as Tiger Lily on the death raft. She mounted the stairs of the theatrical agent’s office with very much less than her usual buoyancy, nor did she find much encouragement in the general appearance of the room into which she was shown. Beneath two tall elms, whose boughs completely overshadowed the roof, stood Mr. Manning would on no account do, though he was tall and dark and handsome and kind, and thirty-five and adequately prosperous, and all that a husband should be. “No, I must have had hope lurking somewhere too. One nail drives out another, it's true; but the worst nail you can employ is a coffin-nail.
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