She had thought it a mirror, because it was her. While waiting for his coming she had stated her present and future relations with him with what had seemed to her the most satisfactory lucidity and completeness. Over the mantel, set into an ornately carved panel with fluted columns at each end, was a portrait of a man on horseback. "What should I do here alone if I were an enemy? But, come, don't let us waste time in bandying words, when we might employ it so much more profitably. \" She replied to him, looking into his blue eyes. It was a reputation by no means deserved. “You didn’t expect that I should kiss you?” “How was I to know that a man would—would think it was possible—when there was nothing—no love?” “How did I know there wasn’t love?” That silenced her for a moment. Rain pounded the tin roof, and waterfalls obscured the pavilion into its own private 91 chamber. ’ He stopped suddenly, dismay creeping into his face.
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