” Lucy gestured to the Treehouse, which had been roofed and framed. ’ ‘Parbleu,’ exclaimed the girl, jumping up in some dudgeon. ” Lucy said, frowning. Upon reading the name, the doctor's eyebrows went up. At Christmas he gave her a set of a small edition of Meredith’s novels, very prettily bound in flexible leather, being guided in the choice of an author, as he intimated, rather by her preferences than his own. If he died, here in this hotel, who would care? Or if she died, who would care? A queer desire blossomed in her heart: to go to him, urge him to see the folly of trying to forget. He’s got flowers. Fine but strong lines marked the profile: that would speak for courage and resolution. Observe it—a blue-serge coat.
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