that forehead that I think so beautiful, and he will not think it worth while to live. It was always touch and go. He will live; but he will not think it worth while to live. He will never think anything worth while. You remember that church at Florence?"
Lucy did remember, and how she had suggested that George should collect postage-stamps.
"After you left Florence—horrible. Then we took the house here, and he goes bathing with your brother, and became better. You saw him bathing?"
"I am so sorry, but it is no good discussing this affair. I am deeply sorry about it."
"Then there came something about a novel. I didn't follow it at all; I had to hear so much, and he minded telling me; he finds me too old. Ah, well, one must have failures. George comes down to-morrow, and takes me up to his London rooms. He can't bear to be about here, and I must be where he is."
"Mr. Emerson," cried the girl, "don't leave—at least, not on my account. I am going to Greece. Don't leave your comfortable house."
It was the first time her voice had been kind and he smiled. "How good everyone is! And look at Mr. Beebe housing me—came over this morning and heard I was going! Here I am so comfortable with a fire."
