“C. Q.”; or, In the Wireless House
to cry out—to run away, but he could n’t. He was fastened to where he sat as by a spell—by a spell which the enchantress was weaving tighter and tighter every moment. The blood had rushed to his face and neck and his pulse was beating a hundred and fifty to the minute.
“Micky—dear!” whispered Lily, her hair brushing his lips as she bent forward.
And before we judge this woman too harshly let us pause to consider that her every action was composed of motives both good and bad, and that her vices were often the virtues of other less virile persons run riot or carried to an extreme. For Lily Trevelyan was such a creature of caprice, such a weather-cock of emotion, that she responded to every gust of passion, every breath of nobler impulse, without much regard to consequences, and often conduct which started with less worthy motives ended in charity, and actions which began in pity ended in love, so that evil and good sometimes joined hands and hurried her along her path together. Now while she had come to the wireless house for an unworthy purpose, her infatuation for Micky was as near a pure flame as any she had ever felt.
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