You were only one room removed from the library, see. "What's that to you?" demanded Jonathan, gruffly. The love-songs of all the ages were singing in her blood, the scent of night stock from the garden filled the air, and the moths that beat upon the closed frames of the window next the lamp set her mind dreaming of kisses in the dusk. "Them's catchpoles, I s'pose, Sir, arter the gemman with a writ?" he observed. It was debauching, this—a devilish art which drew such strange allurements from a face and figure almost Madonna-like in their simplicity.
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