He was conscious of a peculiar pleasure in sitting there and thinking of those few hours which already were becoming to assume a definite importance in his mind—a place curiously apart from those dry-as-dust images which had become the gods of his prosaic life. . I questioned him too closely about his possessions, and remarked upon the fact that he was a most inexpert driver, although Meysey Hill had a great reputation as a motorist. He mumbled an apology and then stopped short. . A thing which had mystified her since childhood, a smouldering wonder why it should be, and until now she had never felt the urge to investigate. Why? Love was a word of God's, and yet her father had denied it—denied it to the Book, denied it to his own flesh and blood. ‘Merci, dieu. He opened the drawer of the writing table. “Who took care of you after she died?” “My father.
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